Modes of Distress
by Crow's Talon
Summary: This is the story of Jonathan Crane, from his childhood in Georgia to the end of his first encounter with the Batman, and his journey from troubled child to psychopathic monster.
1. And If the Babe Is Born a Boy

**Disclaimer**: _I don't own Batman, or Scarecrow for that matter._

**A/N**:_ This story is a project that I have been working on for some time, using the best parts of the Scarecrow's various origins to create an in-depth Crane backstory. Aspects of both Scarecrow: Year One and Batman Annual #19 have been used in this piece, and I hope to remain true to his character while exploring other, lesser-known characters from both comics.__  
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**Trigger Warning_:_**_ Bullying, child abuse, violence, and character death in later chapters._

* * *

_You would not easily guess_  
_All the modes of distress_  
_Which torture the tenants of earth;_  
_And the various evils,_  
_Which like so many devils,_  
_Attend the poor souls from their birth._

- Percy Bysshe Shelley_, Verses On A Cat_

If Mary Keeny cared about one thing, it was her family name. And why not? The Keenys were a proud line, and for a long time they faced disaster with the grace of God and the patience of saints. Family legend held that a Keeny had been aboard one of the first ships to reach the New World, long before they settled in Georgia. She saw the good times, before everything went to rot with the Great Depression and several members of her own line ended their lives like the cowards they were. Killing yourself was a mortal sin. She knew that, and their souls would writhe for it. But she prevailed, guided by faith and trust in the heaven above her, and there she was. Sixty-three years old, and she didn't need a walking stick or wheelchair yet. She was made of sterner stuff than that. No Keeny would suffer a retirement home, not while she breathed.

There were disappointments and mistakes along the way, of course. Marion, her daughter, was a widow, and at such a young age. But she kept to the faith and endured, bringing her own daughter Karen up to follow in her footsteps. Karen, though, was a creature of degraded morals and low values. She was, to put it bluntly, incorrigible. Whenever Marion had her eye off the girl, she'd go off to parties in town, drinking and smoking and spending increasing amounts of time with men whose values were as lacking as her own. None of that would have happened if Mary had been in charge of the girl's upbringing. When she was a girl herself, parents knew how to deal with brats like Karen. The cane was a start. Spare the rod and spoil the child, as the Good Book said.

For all she tried to live up to her mother's example as a girl, Marion's hand was too lax, and as a woman she was a failure. While not stupid like Karen, she had grown self-indulgent, devoting herself to perfumes and jewelry. Somewhere along the way she had acquired silly dreams of leaving Arlen, shedding the shadow of her deranged mother, and becoming a society lady, preening in front of the bathroom mirror and eyeing pretty things in department stores. She let Karen get away with wandering off, and as a result what scraps of dignity were left in the Keeny name were utterly worthless. Little things became scandalous. Sometimes Mary wondered why she still cared.

The old woman glared at the dark-haired girl, who was cowering on a dirty bed with a hand on her stomach, partly covered by a striped brown blanket. She was in the family way, judging from how bloated she was. With all the men Karen saw, this was bound to happen. She had tried to hide it, conspiring with her friends and restricting her diet to try and keep her figure. However, it quickly reached the point where Marion noticed, gave her a good long cursing, and hauled her to the old Keeny manor to stay with Mary.

Marion herself paced beside the bed, arms crossed, glowering at her terrified daughter all the while. She took Karen's pregnancy even more harshly than Mary did, although the old woman suspected that the disapproval came in part because the scandal would hurt her reputation in the Arlen social scene. Mary could smell the faint scent of roses, which she strongly suspected was Marion's perfume.

"Who did this to you?" Marion asked, Karen flinching at the vicious note in her voice. "You're lucky I don't disown you this instant, you filthy whore. Tell me who it was, so I can tell his family."

Mary joined her daughter, narrowing her eyes and watching the stupid girl quiver. "Was it someone from Arlen? A rich boy with too much money and time on his hands? Give us a name. If he lives in town, we might be able to have a conversation with his parents about this problem."

"His name was Gerald Crane. He wasn't from around here. He said he was visiting, but his family lived a few towns over. He was on break from the Navy, he said."

Kare's voice trembled, showing how terrified she was of her own grandmother. She had every right to be. It was all Mary could do to keep from smacking some sense into Karen. In all her years as matriarch of the family she had never seen something like this. It was insulting, no, a disgrace. All of her hard years of work seeing to it that the family was well taken care of and securing God's blessings blown on a granddaughter who had children by men she barely met.

"Gerald Crane." Oh, Mary knew about Gerald Crane. He had quite the reputation as a hooligan and a disgrace to his family, wasting their well-earned money on drink and clothes. To their credit, they had tried to fix the stupid boy. Eventually the Cranes, God bless them, had gotten fed up with him and kicked him out, hoping that his enlistment in the Navy would calm him down. Unfortunately, it only let him meet like-minded companions, and gave him even more of a taste for drink. He could be a charmer if he wanted to be. No doubt Karen had fallen for his sweet talk. The couple would have been an appropriate one if it hadn't been so sickening and if it wasn't her family. "Of course. And what did you think of him? Thrilled by the bad boy, were we?"

Karen shook her head, still trying to force out an answer. "I didn't think he was bad at all. He was very nice to me. Polite. Gave me a present to remember him by. We'd been seeing each other for a few days, and he was leaving Arlen pretty soon."

Of course she'd defend her lover and partner in sin. Mary wasn't moved in the slightest. Part of it was Karen trying to deny that she did something wrong. The girl rummaged in her pocket, taking out and fingering a small, crumpled photograph. Mary squinted to get a better look at the man who had intruded into their lives so rudely. He was in his mid-twenties, with a shock of red hair and sturdy features, smiling while holding up a mug of beer. Noticing, Karen put it away in a rush and shuffled back on the bed to protect it.

"He gave you more than one gift, I see," Marion remarked on seeing the picture. "One outside and the other inside. What a generous man. We may have misjudged him."

"Nice, was he?" Mary leaned into the frightened girl's face. She did well to be scared, and Mary had it in mind to terrify her. Fear was the best way to make sure that mistakes weren't made twice. "Was he now? And where's this perfect gentleman now that you turned out to be with child? He used you and left as soon as he was done with you. You aren't the first person he played for an idiot. Oh, I know all about the things Gerald Crane gets up to. See, this is what comes of relations of that kind. Godless. You make me sick, girl. If it was up to me, I'd treat you like Gerald's parents treated him."

This time Karen was cowed into silence. Good.

"The Cranes are a fine family, but he turned out a miserable hedonist. He and his friends would go around town, get filthy drunk, and do all kinds of idiot things before morning came and they turned sober. But the Cranes had none of it, and out he went. Not that he saw the error of his ways."

Knowing Gerald, he was probably miles away from Arlen by now. He was a stinking coward, unable to face up to his role in what happened, leaving it to the Keenys to pick up the pieces of what he broke. The only traces of his being there were the baby in Karen's womb and the photograph tucked in her pocket. She didn't hold it against the Cranes, as they'd tried to control their son.

The girl was crying now, holding her swollen belly as if to clutch the _thing_ growing inside. The scene might have been touching if it hadn't been so stomach-turning. The family agreed to let the infant be born and hold a meeting about what to do with it once it was. Mary, as the head of the family, would make the final decision as to its fate. Marion, although she hadn't seen it, hated the baby already. It would, as she claimed, make a lovely embarrassment and a sign that she couldn't control her own daughter. Karen's pregnancy didn't just make her look like a wastrel, it made her mother look like a fool. She didn't just want it adopted or handed over to some family with the means to look after it. No, she wanted it _dead_. It didn't matter when or how. The sooner it died, the better.

"When I was a girl," she told Karen while looking on with disgust, "we had a dog. Whenever we found it with a litter of spare puppies that we couldn't afford to keep, fathered by some filthy mutt off the street, we simply put them in a sack, took them to the riverside, and threw them in." Her voice was hard and cold, and her hands twisted together, as if she wished she had the infant's neck in her grip. Mary's influence on her was strong enough that she didn't want the infant destroyed before it was born, but she saw no reason to keep it.

Unsurprisingly, Karen looked appalled by the idea of killing a child. Her maternal feelings were frankly amazing to see, especially considering how much trouble the thing had gotten the girl into already. For all the screaming and worse that Mary and Marion had given her, she didn't understand that the baby was a problem to be dealt with.

"Mom, it isn't his fault." She showed so much concern for the welfare of something that hadn't even been born yet. "He hasn't done anything wrong. Maybe the Cranes will take him."

"No. We won't burden them with your mistake," Marion replied, not bothering to look at Karen while she spoke. She held a pearl necklace, toying with the little jewels between her fingers. "The Cranes have their own problems without an extra mouth to feed. Besides, they moved away years ago."

Mary sighed, frustration mixed with a little pity. Her granddaughter had so little idea of how the world worked. Marion's idea would be brought up again later, when Karen wasn't there to hear. Although murder was a sin, preserving the family name from the disgrace of a child born outside of wedlock might be worth it.

Her daughter's motivation was probably selfish, granted. Getting rid of the newborn, Mary assumed, would cover up the embarrassment, provided that the body could be hidden so that it wouldn't draw unwanted attention. Karen was late in her pregnancy and the child would be born in a month or so, maybe a little earlier. None of them knew exactly when the birthing was supposed to happen. If God was willing, all of Karen's beer and cigarettes might kill the child in the womb and save them all the trouble of deciding what to do with it. Unfortunately, Karen reported it kicking and moving from inside. The thing, whatever it would turn out to be, had already shown something of the Keenys' strength.

Karen, face still buried in the pillow, whimpered as her grandmother left her side, the old woman's face as grim as the black of her dress.

"I hope you enjoyed that night with dear Gerald Crane." Mary grabbed her yellowed, dog-eared Bible from a wooden counter and crossed herself. She didn't even like talking about him. No daughter of hers would indulge in sin like Karen had. She would have a word with Marion, telling her to keep a closer eye on the girl and spend less attention on worldly things. "I tell you, he won't give a second thought. Chances are he's found someone else already. This creature could very well be stuck with you for life. You can barely afford to keep yourself alive. What do you suggest we do with the little brat, then? No one will want it. You don't have the money to keep it. If it dies, it'll be for the best. You had better hope that it does."

Barely able to look Mary in the eye, Karen couldn't lift her voice above a whisper, "I'm sorry." She hid her face behind a ragged brown pillow, muffling her sobs. Mary wasn't very impressed by her display. It was an apology made out of fear, not honesty. Such an apology was worse than none at all.

"Apologies won't change anything. You're fortunate that Marion and I are here to look after you. If we weren't, you'd probably be a homeless dissolute like your beloved Gerald. You certainly have his moral standards." Mary folded her thin arms, glaring at the girl with all the hatred in her. She had plenty to spare. Karen quivered under the sheets, grabbing a pillow and clutching it, as if it could protect her. "Next time, I want you to remember the pain you suffered whenever men sweet-talk you. Remember the agony you'll feel, the disgrace you caused us. Understand?"

Karen nodded, but with a strange jerk, as if the baby was kicking again. She covered herself with the blanket, shaking her head and rubbing her stomach. She flinched with pain for a second, her face contorting. "I made a mistake. I get that. Please don't let Mom hurt him, Gran. It's my fault, not his."

"Call the wretched thing what it is," Mary replied, "an _it_. We'll decide its fate in a month or so. It can stay until that long. Perhaps it can comfort you. If it lives, I can only hope that it doesn't inherit your disgusting morals."

She walked away with a measured gait, still carrying the Bible under one arm while Marion followed her into the family living room. It was vast, a sign of the Keenys' lost wealth, but empty. Many of the more expensive goods were long gone, sold off during the bad years. Paintings and photographs hung on the walls, slowly gathering dust as time worked away at them, and the wooden furniture was broken in places.

In better days, it had been the mansion's beating heart, alive with a lit fireplace and joyous hymns ringing in the air, back when being a member of the Keeny family had meant something in Georgia. Now the fireplace was dead and cold, the portraits gray for want of cleaning, and the air silent. The house was alive yet, but in the way a dying animal is alive, waiting for the birds of the air to come and pick the bones white. Mary, who was old enough to see the good times, was all too aware of how the Keenys had slipped. Karen's indiscretions and Marion's self-absorption aside, things hadn't been the same for the line since the thirties.

"For the life of me," Marion said to her mother, "I don't know why Karen became so fond of that little brat. The thing's caused nothing but problems for all of us, but the thought of any harm coming to it sickens her."

Mary sighed, looking at the statue of a small cherub, one of its arms cracked. "In my day, we didn't attach ourselves to children. I had a sister and a brother. One died of whooping cough in the winter of 1916 and the other was a stillborn. We buried them and carried on with our lives. My own son caught the measles before he was a week old. Mourning something that never lived at all was a waste of time. That isn't even considering the suicides of my parents back during the stock market crash. The Lord giveth and taketh away as He pleases. It isn't our place to complain."

Karen was softened by youth, in her opinion, and had a weak heart. She hadn't seen death like her grandmother. Mary, even in her childbearing years, never mourned the loss of a baby. She knew enough about death to understand that crying over the dead was useless, and it was best to leave the matter to God.

Marion gave a grim nod. "If God is willing, it'll be dead of some childhood illness anyway within the month. I hope so. There _are_ places we can go to get rid of it, you know."

Mary couldn't disagree. Her religion made her reluctant to consider murder as quickly as Marion, but nature's hand would do the ugly work just as well, and no one could blame them if it happened. Mumps, measles, diphtheria - she knew that there were many ways a baby could die before the end of its first year. "God willing. Given our fortunes as of late, however, it will live."

"Then let me deal with it my way." Marion dusted off the painting of some stone-faced ancestor in an old army uniform, clutching his musket. Mary didn't remember for the life of her what he was called, and her memory had remained sharp with age. She would have to check the family tree later. It didn't do to forget one's own history, especially during dark times. She decided that, if the baby was born, it would be a Crane rather than a Keeny. The Keeny name had too much honor behind it to be wasted on something that would most likely be buried in the family plot given a month's time.

Even earlier, if Marion had any say in the matter.

* * *

Autumn in Arlen was crisp, the cool wind swirling through the maple trees and blowing red leaves onto the path leading up to the Keeny house. A flock of crows, on a nightly trip to their roost not far from the manor, blotted out the crescent moon with their dark bodies. Their harsh caws, an alarm call against predators, rang in the night air and worried the superstitious. Any stranger who passed by while walking to town would have noticed an even more unsettling sound from the upper window of the mansion, pulled his coat together with a shudder, and hurried along on his way. Inside the decrepit place, so ancient that it should have fallen apart years ago, a woman was screaming bloody murder. If he stopped to listen, he would have heard an old woman's harsh curses. If the screeching didn't drive him off, that would.

Mary Keeny's reputation as the town crazy woman preceded her, a fact which didn't bother her in the slightest. Being a recluse suited her. She was too old and tired to bother with the outside world unless she had no choice. She spent much of her time alone in the mansion brooding over the past, watching the house fall apart and the dust gather. The slow degradation of her line was a nuisance to her. It got worse with every passing generation. Marion, although promising as a girl, was now something of an arrogant socialite and a minor annoyance to her mother. But at least Marion had the God-given sense to avoid strange men. Who knew what the child would turn into, if it lived? She didn't even want to think about it. As of now, they had quite enough problems dealing with the newest, uninvited member of their family.

Despite her loathing for the infant, she settled on something of a compromise with Karen. The newborn child would be allowed to live, on the condition that it stay under Mary's care. She was old and frail, her legs shaking when she walked, and could use a household servant who was young and strong. The fact that she spared the baby's life would give it an obligation to shut its mouth and do as it was told. She wouldn't even have to pay it.

Of course, she'd succeed in raising it properly, the way Marion had failed to raise Karen Keeny. She knew all the old ways of dealing with children, ways that Marion wouldn't try. Karen didn't want to give it up at first, as she claimed to be afraid of what Mary would do to it, but she was in no position to make any decisions. As far as Mary was concerned, the girl was immature and foolish.

So Karen gave in, begging Mary to take good care of the baby. She would, of course, but in her way. Marion stood beside the bed, fuming, still convinced that Mary should simply dispose of the filthy thing. Mary liked her idea better. She despised the child, of course, and shared Marion's belief that no good could come from a baby born out of wedlock. However, getting rid of it would be a waste of spare muscle. She was growing old, suspecting the beginnings of arthritis in her weary bones, and couldn't do household work as well as she used to.

"You're making a mistake," Marion told her mother as they watched over the screaming teenager. "There are ways to get rid of it."

Before Mary could reply, Karen's screams became louder, and they could see her young body struggle under the blanket. It was time. The baby, clearly a recalcitrant from birth, had decided to spite them all and come out a week earlier than expected. Marion sighed and set to work, snapping at Karen as she cleaned the bed for the birthing and poured out a basin of water. Mary watched, emotionless, as her granddaughter wailed loudly enough to bring down the sky on the mansion. She had been a mother herself, several times, and certainly never whined like this. Karen clearly enjoyed the pleasure of sin but couldn't stand the pain that came with it. Such was the way of so many of her ilk.

"Shut your mouth, girl," she said, bending over as Karen gritted her teeth and fought to stay awake. She felt no sympathy, viewing the birthing as a punishment for her granddaughter's loose behavior. "Maybe this will teach you to think before giving yourself to sin. You'd think you were being tortured from that infernal screeching."

Karen swallowed heavily and looked up, eyes watering, every word a struggle. "It _hurts_, Gran."

"As well it should," Mary replied simply, stooping to remove the baby and ignoring Karen's panicked screams. It wasn't pretty work, but it had to be done, and she was fairly competent as a midwife. She wished that the last household servants hadn't already left years ago. The effort left Karen panting with exhaustion, but the baby came out alive, confirmed by a quick look at its rising chest. When she finally saw the wretched creature which had embarrassed her daughter so badly, she shared the younger woman's loathing. Marion was self-absorbed, only thinking of her own reputation instead of the family's, but she was right about how hateful the baby was.

It was an ugly thing even by the low standards of newborn babies, clearly underweight and stinking of blood. It reminded the old woman of some kind of small, pale, disgusting creature. Mary, lip curled with distaste, gave it a quick wash in the basin before showing it to her daughter. Karen was right about its being male, at least. It blinked, opening wide blue eyes, and bawled, surprising both women. For a moment it seemed as if Marion, in a fit of rage, would grab the screaming infant and hurl it to the floor. Karen, although too weak to say a word, raised her hand in a plea for her to stop. Marion relaxed, still trembling with disgust, and turned to face Mary.

"Mother, there won't be any good in letting it live. Look at it. It won't last a month. I'm personally amazed that it's still breathing, considering who its mother is. Putting it out of its misery would be kind." They were quiet for a moment, listening to Karen's wheezing in the corner and the newborn's wailing. It had quite the set of lungs for something so small. Looking at the baby, Mary felt a growing desire to smack it. "We should bury it in your atrium and pretend that this never happened."

Mary shook her head, to the other woman's surprise and dismay. "I already made my decision. The baby will live in the mansion with me, and will be raised properly, unlike its parents." Marion grumbled disagreement, but gave in with a nod. "I'll name it Jonathan." It was, rather appropriately in her opinion, named after Jonathan Keeny, her son who had died as an infant. Marion, judging from her pinched face, clearly hoped that the new Jonathan would follow suit and conveniently catch measles.

"As long as it isn't a Keeny," she said, clearly annoyed that her mother was ignoring her advice. Mary didn't care. Marion's arrogance deserved a little punishment, as she was partly to blame. If she had only kept a tighter hand on her daughter, there would have been no baby in the first place. "I am not sharing my name with that thing."

"Since we know who the father is, we can give it his name if it matters that much to you." For once, Mary was all too happy to grant her daughter's request. Mary showed Marion the child, both of them wincing at its loud screams. "Jonathan Crane."

"I don't understand why we're bothering to name it at all. It won't live a week, Mother. Look at how thin it is." Marion pointed out the baby's spindly limbs, which had very little of the usual fat, and ran her finger along the thin bones of its side. She brushed over the soft beginnings of red hair, inherited from its father. "I can count its ribs through that bag of a chest it has. Next month, mark my words, it'll be dead anyway."

Mary wasn't bothered to listen, holding the scrawny boy in her arms as he stopped screaming and looked up at her, saliva gurgling in his throat. His mouth opened in a red, toothless yawn, and he jabbed a thumb in before sucking it vigorously. Despite her lack of maternal feelings toward him, Mary felt a sense of control over the brat.

Oh, she would take care of him. She would see to it that, unlike Karen and Marion, Jonathan Crane would grow up with the fear of God.


	2. Summertime

_Her fingers number every Nerve  
Just as a Miser counts his gold;  
She lives upon his shrieks & cries—  
And she grows young as he grows old._

_- _William Blake_, The Mental Traveller_

The child lived, of course, and Mary kept him. Most of his spare time was spent in the house, with her, since it was more or less the only place he knew. He was raised on her special brand of child-rearing. If the child cried, she locked him in the closet until he shut up. That stopped it quickly enough. She fed him a diet of hellfire and psalms, teaching him to read from the Bible and trust in God. Since, she said, she was too old and tired to look after the crops, as soon as he could walk Jonathan Crane was put in the fields to work. He spent long hours minding the corn, trying his best to ignore clouds of bloodsucking flies even when his back turned red and blistered from the brutal sun.

He grew up learning to stand straight and hold his tongue, if only to avoid trouble, both from Granny and people in general. In those days, it was something of a defense mechanism. The reasoning was that, if he ignored anyone who annoyed him, they would give up and go away. Sometimes this worked. Other times, more often, it didn't.

Very rarely, when Mary didn't give him any orders, he would venture outside of the rotting old Keeny mansion to explore both Arlen and the surrounding territory. He was a strange boy, almost a ghost child, distancing himself from the other boys and finding his own places to hide. Sometimes he could be found sitting under a tree, one of Granny's hymn-books under one skinny arm. Mostly he flitted around town, usually in the library or in secret places of his own discovery. Because he never spoke to or played with children of his own age, his reputation as strange and slightly creepy was inevitable. Because he was a Keeny, by blood if not by name, it only got worse. Mary Keeny had made a name for herself in Arlen, and it wasn't one she was quick to correct, even when it spread to her great-grandson.

Sometimes people would feel sorry for him, the poor sickly thing, and slip him a cookie or a slice of bread out of pity. If given anything edible, he would scurry away without a word, still clutching it in one slippery hand, and cram it into his mouth as quickly as possible. His fingers twitched as he ate, as if he expected someone to snatch it away from him.

As for the children of Arlen, they didn't know exactly what to make of Jonathan Crane. On the one hand, it was well guessed exactly what kind of home he lived in and where he came from. Karen Keeny's activities were the stuff of especially juicy gossip, and no one forgot about her brief romance with Gerald Crane. It was also known that Mary Keeny wasn't a particularly kindly old woman. Even most of the grownups thought that she was insane and avoided the old mansion. The only time children visited her place was on dares, ringing the doorbell and darting into the bushes to avoid being caught.

Sometimes Jonathan was the one who came out, blinking curiously behind those ridiculous wide glasses of his as if trying to make sense of the intruders. It was like seeing a bat caught in the light, blinded and helpless. He never yelled, or said much of anything at all, which was a disappointment to the pranksters. He would just stand there stupidly until a distant screech from his great-grandmother snapped him to his senses, at which point he'd slam the door shut. Interesting, to be sure, but not worth the risk. If crazy Mary Keeny came out, wielding an old white parasol and cussing up a blue streak, _that_ was fun. It got to the point where paying a visit to the Keeny manor became something of an initiation rite for the wilder boys of Arlen.

As for her great-grandson, at first they thought that young Jonathan was just boring. He almost completely ignored children who tried to talk, keeping to himself, sometimes wandering into the town's cornfields and sitting there, arms folded and head down. He hardly ever said anything, even when spoken to. If he knew that the other kids laughed at him behind his back, he didn't show any sign of caring.

To their increasing frustration, Jonathan never took part in their games or did anything fun. For the other children, especially the boys, this marked him as weird. Whenever they asked him to join a round of tag or hide-and-seek, he just hunched up and pretended not to hear. This was a shame, as they felt that he would be fairly good at hide-and-seek. At first they left him alone, reasoning that he was boring and wouldn't know how to play right anyway. Thanks to one boy in particular, this brief peace between Jonathan and the others didn't last long.

Bo Griggs was well-known for being one of the roughest and bravest kids in Arlen. He led a small gang of about five kids from town about his age, terrors to the adults and local heroes to most of the other children. At first fights and games were enough to satisfy Bo's sense of fun, but at last he and his followers decided to try something new. He was already overbearing towards children younger and weaker than he was, but chance provided him with a new target who was much more entertaining.

The first time Bo met Jonathan Crane was when both of them were seven years old. It was the middle of summer, and a rainstorm had come recently, darkening the sky and turning the ground to muddy slush. The two of them stood beside an old dirt road with Bo's gang of friends, all boys slightly younger than himself, drawn by the natural charisma he seemed to possess. Jonathan, who was there first, sat on the ground and ignored them, shaded under a small apple tree. This slightly annoyed Bo, who wasn't used to being ignored, even by the weird Keeny boy. His first plan had been to goad Crane, but he found himself tempted to use a more direct approach.

"Hey. Keeny."

Jonathan said nothing, drawing a line in the ground with his finger and ignoring the dirt that got on the seat of his pants. Bo drew himself up, approaching Jonathan and poking him in a bony shoulder. Jonathan turned his head, blinked, and went back to work without so much as acknowledging Bo's existence. Some of the other boys snickered. Brad Simmons, a brown-haired, well-muscled boy who was the oldest member of Bo's gang and his unofficial second-in-command, chuckled a little before a glare from Bo silenced him.

"C'mon, don't play stupid. 'Course you hear me." Bo poked Jonathan again, harder, annoyed when the kid didn't react. Jonathan just sat there, getting his pants muddy while staring at the dirt.

"If you ask me," Brad told Bo with a sneer, "he's not worth it. He's too weird to play with us right. Probably stupid or something. You know how the Keenys are." The other gang members snickered. Jonathan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't move or show any other sign of listening.

"You're wasting your time," said another, holding back a laugh. "C'mon, Bo, let's go do something else. This was a dumb idea."

Bo was quickly losing face in front of the other boys. He had to put Jonathan in his place, and fast. "Hey! I'm talking to you! Say something, stupid!" He lunged forward, knocked Crane on his stomach, and wiped out the scribble on the ground with a brush of his hand. That got Jonathan's attention, all right. The weird boy scrabbled to his knees, not bothering to dust off his clothes, a little bit of blood dripping from his nose.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, tilting his head like some idiot owl. He didn't seem to notice the hoots and laughter erupting from Bo's gang. His voice was soft but nasal, with only a hint of anger behind it.

"Because nobody ignores me, weirdo." Bo dragged Jonathan to his feet and looked into his eyes. For all of Crane's bravado, he saw fear in there. The boy was fairly small, his muscles limp compared to his opponent's, a fact that he recognized with a resigned sigh. "Do you know who I am?"

"No," Jonathan replied, and Bo answered by grabbing the inside of his shirt and yanking it hard, pulling the other boy towards him.

"Look, freak, if you know what's good for you you'll get out of my way. My name's Bo Griggs. Don't forget it." Jonathan blinked again, staring into thin air in a way that made Bo want to punch him in the face.

"I'm not a freak." He lunged, attempting to wriggle free of the thicker boy's grasp. "L-l-leave me alone. Please!" This time Bo heard a slight bit of rising alarm in Crane's voice. "Put me down! I don't want to fight. What do you want?"

"'Course you are. Your family's full of freaks. You're crazy as old Mary. 'Least we don't have to look at her." Encouraged, Bo shoved Crane up against a tree, watching him struggle with some satisfaction. "You know what else? I think you look stupid. Can't Crazy Keeny give you something decent to wear? I know your family's really weird and stuff, but still."

"No, we're not," Crane replied in gasps. Now Bo had something to taunt him with.

"I saw your gran at church one time with your mom and grandma. You wanna know what my dad says about your mom?" Jonathan shook his head. "She looked sick or something, while your grandma wouldn't stop fiddling with that pearl necklace she has." Bo shook his head, mocking sympathy. "You're even worse. Don't you ever comb your hair or change your clothes?" That question wasn't just a taunt. Whenever he saw Jonathan, the kid was always wearing the same dirty hand-me-down clothes - patched-up blue jeans stained brown by mud and grime, and a red, striped shirt that looked a size too big for him. His ginger hair was tangled and filthy, like soiled straw, as if no one bothered to comb it.

"Gran says pretty clothes are prideful. Things of the devil," Jonathan said, trying to explain himself while slipping free, his lean body allowing him to wriggle out of the stronger boy's grip. He darted to the other side of the tree, poking his head out from behind it to confront the other boys. "I'm not allowed to wear them."

"Yeah, well, tell Granny Keeny she's nuts, and so are you." Brad came over, helping Bo recapture Crane and pin him down. This time, Jonathan didn't even try to fight back. "All right, we've got him. What do we do with him?"

"Let me go?" Crane asked, but he was ignored as the boys formed a ring around the tree, blocking all escape routes. Bo roughly pulled him off while Brad tried to pin his hands behind his back. He fought his best, managing a weak punch aimed at Brad's nose, but he was outnumbered and gave up.

"Well," said Bo after a few moments' thought, "there's a cornfield not so far from here. Let's take him there."

Jonathan made to complain, but Brad wrenched his arm behind his back, and he swallowed hard to keep from crying out. Judging from the nasty little smile that appeared on his face immediately afterward, Crane wanted to give the kid's arm a good solid bite in revenge, and would have if a second arm hadn't tightened around his throat.

"All right. Bo says you have to come with us, so you'd better come, freak."

Crane fell quiet, glaring darkly at them, but allowed Brad and Bo to drag him away from the road, giving up escape completely after a few weak attempts. The storm had turned the road soggy, dirtying their shoes and forcing the group to slog their way through. Bo ordered Brad to hold Crane tightly to make sure that the kid didn't slip away until after they were done. If he had a reason to run, which he often did, the Keeny boy was remarkably quick on his feet. In answer, Brad tightened his grip around Crane's hands.

Bo led the boys into the nearest cornfield, which was golden and shimmering from the warm weather and the rainstorm, the ripe ears rustling in the wind. He told them to let go of Crane, who immediately got ready to make a sprint for it. Before he could run away, Bo grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He yelped, either from pain or alarm, and looked as if he had been kicked in the face.

"Don't you dare," Bo said, and Crane reluctantly gave in, sitting hunched in the corn and covering his face with his hands. He moaned softly before looking up, eyes red.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" he asked, eyes darting around the cornfield in search of a possible way out. Bo hauled Crane to his feet, forcing the skinny boy to stand. He wanted fear and respect from Crane, and he wouldn't let the kid go until he saw it. Crane had to know who was boss and who was at the very bottom of Arlen's social ladder.

"All right. You wanna know why none of us like you? Look at me, you runt. You wanna know?"

Jonathan breathed in deeply before he replied, standing his ground. He looked into the other boy's eyes, only his quivering throat betraying his fear. Bo had to admire the kid's pluck.

"Not particularly. Now please let me go and leave me alone," he told them, backing away like a cornered animal. "I don't want to start trouble. I don't even know what you have against me, Bo. I hardly even know you." As he talked, he bumped against a wooden pole behind him with a sharp thud and cried out. Rubbing his head, he turned, drawing the boys' attention. For a moment all of them stood there, distracted by the thing which loomed over Jonathan.

It was a scarecrow, not a particularly attractive or well-kept one, hanging slumped in the field with pieces ripped out of its tattered, dark clothes. Skeletal twigs stuck out of its arms like crooked, clawed fingers, and a ragged black witch's hat was perched on its pale burlap head. It was none other than the Keeny scarecrow - both Bo and Jonathan were well familiar with it as a landmark. Jonathan was on his home territory, which explained why he was acting so brave. He was probably hoping that Crazy Keeny would come screaming out of the mansion close by and save his skin. This also meant that Bo would have to do whatever he wanted to do to Crane quickly. If he couldn't give the boy a beating, he'd do one better. There were other ways to hurt someone besides bruises and bloody noses.

"You know what you remind me of?" Bo said to Jonathan, pointing at the scarecrow behind them as the other boys quieted. They wanted to see what he would do. "You look like that scarecrow over there. Those stupid clothes you have wouldn't look half bad on _him_." A malicious grin came to his face as he saw Jonathan flinch. "Yeah, that's right, you look like a scarecrow!"

"I do not!" Jonathan replied, although he wasn't looking at Bo. From the looks of him, he just wanted to get away, and quickly. If it wasn't for Crane's reaction before, Bo might, just _might_, have relented. However, he valued fun above anything else, and he had a chance to recover any respect from his gang that he had lost earlier.

"Course you don't, _scarecrow_!" Brad burst out laughing, and Jonathan's eyes darted to the figure hanging in the corn. As a mocking chorus of "Scarecrow! Scarecrow!" started up behind him, he burst through the field, yelling so he wouldn't have to hear. A flock of sparrows fluttered away, startled by the intruder and the noise, feathers scattering on the ground. Bo watched, smiling, as the kid darted up the path and rapped on the door, rushing inside when it opened. Clearly he preferred old Crazy Keeny to confronting the gang of bullies.

As for Bo Griggs, the reaction that he'd gotten from the "scarecrow" nickname was all he needed. Calling Crane a freak or a chicken was fun enough, but this was even better. In his opinion, a nickname was better than an insult. A nickname could stick. Even if he didn't spread it around himself, his friends certainly would. Scarecrow Crane. It had a nice ring to it.

He leaned against the raggedy old Keeny scarecrow, watching his gang split up before setting off for home himself. He didn't want to risk Jonathan's crazy great-grandma coming out and going after him. He knew Mary Keeny well enough to respect how frightening she could be. He'd have his chance for fun with Jonathan Crane later.

* * *

The next time they met, in the same spot, Jonathan hunched up and ignored Bo completely. He coughed into his soiled sleeve before turning, face expressionless. Bo tried to restrain himself from lashing out at the kid. Crane was already plenty wary, getting ready to break and run, and Bo would have to calm him down.

"What do you want?" It wasn't an accusation, but there was a harsh note to Jonathan's voice all the same. "I don't like you and you don't like me, so go away."

"C'mon, Scarecrow, give me a break. I'm just here to say hello."

"I _might_ have believed you if you hadn't called me 'scarecrow'. I was hoping you'd forgotten about that." There was a surprising amount of acid in there for someone so young. Jonathan leaned back against the tree, drawing a hand into his torn brown satchel and pulling out a book. Bo leaned in to get a look at the title, but Jonathan was too quick for him, shoving it back inside. "Mind your own business, Bo. I don't want to talk."

"Why not? You're fun, Scarecrow."

"I'm Jonathan Crane, not Scarecrow. Use my real name." Jonathan got to a half-sitting position, hunched over to avoid hitting his head on a low branch. "Please."

Bo nodded, although he had no intention of doing so. It would mean losing an especially amusing target. "It's just for a little fun. Not that you know what fun is."

"Granny says that games will make me soft and stupid," Jonathan said, hanging his head so that Bo couldn't see his eyes. The larger boy sat beside the thin one, waiting until Jonathan sat up again.

"If you ask me, your granny's the stupid one," Bo told the weird kid, who gave a weak laugh and looked behind him, as if making sure that no one would hear them. Bo knew that Crazy Keeny wasn't a nice woman, and wasn't surprised that Jonathan was scared of her. Still, she was only a weak old lady. What could she do to the kid to make Jonathan so afraid? Part of Bo didn't even want to know. "C'mon. I'll get some of my friends and we can play tag."

"I don't want to," Crane replied, pushing himself up and looking at Bo with eyes as hollow and dark as the Keeny scarecrow's. "I'll get in trouble. Gran will get angry with me."

"So what?" Bo took Jonathan by the arm with a grin and clapped him on the back. "C'mon, Scarecrow, loosen up a bit. She's just an old lady. I'm sure she ain't that bad."

Crane gave a loud gulp, blinking several times before he answered. "I can't. I..." He fell quiet, trembling in a way that made Bo feel a little sorry for him.

"Come _on._ Get a life. We won't be too hard on you. We'll play a round or two of tag and let you go. What do you say?" Bo offered a meaty hand, waiting for Crane to accept it. Crane sat there, hunched over, before he gave his own and shook on it. Bo was surprised by how thin it was - he could feel the kid's bones underneath his skin. Clearly Crazy Keeny hadn't been feeding him right. "Me and the boys were just having a little fun yesterday. It was nothing personal. Had to put on an act for Brad and his crowd." He smiled, knowing what would get the kid's attention. "Tell you what, Scarecrow. If you play with us, I'll let you be part of my gang for the day."

"Thanks for the offer, but no." Jonathan pulled his hand back with a sudden jerk. "Gran will kill me if she catches me."

"God, Scarecrow! Why are you so scared of her? She's old and crazy, that's all." The boy's hands were wet and he'd turned a little pale in the face. Bo already knew that Jonathan Crane was chicken, but he looked downright terrified. "I don't think she'd kill you over a little game of tag." Jonathan swallowed again, eyes darting back. "A deal's a deal, Scarecrow."

Jonathan stood up, wiping sweat off his brow that wasn't from the summer sun. "You're right, Bo. I made a deal. Guess I have to keep it. Make this fast, though. If Gran knows I played with you..."

"Aw, who cares? She's just an old bat. My pa says she can hardly walk. You don't have anything to worry about." Bo laughed, pulling Jonathan close. The kid squirmed, but a little more weakly than before. "Guess I have to make a better deal. If she comes, I'll tell her that it was my idea. Then I'll get in trouble, not you."

"Promise?" Jonathan asked, his voice barely louder than a squeak.

Bo smiled, although he wasn't as sure that Crazy Keeny wouldn't come, especially given where he wanted to play. Not that he'd tell Jonathan. "Promise, Scarecrow."

Jonathan agreed to wait by the tree while Bo went to find his gang, scattered around the well-to-do neighborhoods of Arlen. There was Brad Simmons, of course, his oldest and most loyal friend, who had helped him deal with Crane earlier. When Bo told him the plan, he offered to join in, both for his love of the game and to hang out with the group. Then there was Jason Bludhorn, Brad's older neighbor, whose family had moved over from the neighboring town of Latham a year ago. He was a solidly built boy with short, blond hair, big for his age and already one of the best football players in town. He liked any excuse for roughhousing, and a game of tag was as good as any other.

When Jonathan saw Brad, he turned to run before Bo grabbed his arm. "You promised, Scarecrow," he said, this time with a note of threat that wasn't lost on Crane. "A deal's a deal."

"Wait a minute. We're playing with Jonathan _Crane_?" Jason faced Bo, both surprised and disgusted, jabbing a trembling finger at a very confused Jonathan. "Look at him! He doesn't even know how to play! He'll mess everything up! If he's in, I'm outta here." Brad whispered something in Jason's ear that Bo couldn't quite make out, Jonathan coming closer to listen in. A look from Bo ended his curiosity at once. "Fine, just this once. You'd better enjoy this, Crane."

Jonathan nodded, clearly very nervous. The only thing keeping him there was probably his fear of breaking the deal with Bo. "I'll try to. How do I play?"

"It's easy," Bo said, trying to keep his patience. "You run, and one of us chases you. If I catch you, you're 'it', and you have to run after us next. Nothing to it."

"So I'm 'it'?" Jonathan asked, wringing his hands and blinking behind his glasses. "I think I understand."

"No, Jason's 'it'. You run."

"You won't be too rough?" Crane tensed his lean muscles, getting ready to bolt when told to.

Bo gave Jason a knowing wink and the blond boy nodded. "We'll try to go easy on you. It is your first game, after all." As Jonathan crouched, Jason started the countdown. "Three, two, one, _now_!"

Jonathan was off in an instant, Jason hot on his trail, completely ignoring Bo and Brad. Bo followed them, more out of curiosity than concern for Crane. The kid was close to the Keeny house, probably in case the game turned violent and he had to appeal to Crazy Keeny as the lesser of two evils. _Smart kid_, Bo thought with a smirk. Knowing Jason Bludhorn, Jonathan would be in for quite the game. He ran up ahead, taking a shortcut he knew through the cornfield.

Seeing Jason running after him, Crane ran past the slouching scarecrow, breathing heavily while Jason barely slowed down, struggling to stay in front. Bo, unable to restrain himself, burst out laughing. Jonathan shot him a glare, too angry to notice Bo stick out a foot to trip him up. With a strangled cry, Jonathan collapsed into a mess of grimy clothes and twisted limbs while Jason caught up. Smirking, he touched Crane lightly on the back, listening to the kid's groans.

"Tag, you're it. Thanks, Bo." Brad jerked his head, stepping back to let Crane stand. The kid was absolutely livid, but Bo found the idea of an angry Jonathan Crane too funny to be scared. However, he was genuinely surprised when, furious, Jonathan ran yelling at him.

"Oh, God! Look at this! It's too funny! I think I made him mad, guys!" Bo, more in the mood to taunt Crane than afraid of him, ran for it, heading to the Keeny house. It wasn't as imposing a sight during the day, but it still reminded Bo of a half-eaten piece of carrion, complete with a pair of crows perched on the roof and watching the boys through beady black eyes. Crane followed, too angry to hear Jason and Brad's laughter from behind him.

At last he managed to catch up with Bo, who stood right outside the old manor's door and waved, taunting Jonathan and startling the crows, which flew away with piercing caws.

"Nice going, Scarecrow! Surprised it took you so long."

Jonathan was clearly exhausted; his breathing was now a sickly rasp and his face was red, both from the heat and his anger. Bo half-expected him to fall down from heatstroke on the spot. However, Crane was clearly tougher than they gave him credit for, as he staggered over, grabbed Bo by the arm, and whispered two vicious words in his ear.

"_You're it_."

The door rattled open and, knowing what was about to happen, Brad abandoned the game and disappeared up the path, followed by Jason. It was every boy for himself now. Bo managed to wriggle free from Crane's grasp as the weird kid froze in his tracks, eyes widening by the second. Grim old Crazy Keeny stormed out, her face dark and stern as death itself, wearing her black widow's dress. She hit Bo once on the back with the front end of her ragged umbrella and strode past him as he protested. Ignoring him, she went right for Jonathan Crane, who immediately collapsed, begging and pleading as she advanced on him. He was absolutely scared out of his wits. For once, however, it wasn't funny.

"Please, Gran, I can explain! It was their idea, they wanted to play with me, and I -" She grabbed the squirming boy by the ear and hauled him upright, dragging him toward the yawning door. "Bo can tell you! Gran! Please! No!" He gestured to Bo, wordlessly pleading for the other boy to back up his story. _Come on! I kept my end of the deal. Help me!_

Bo shrugged as he got up, his back still stinging from where the umbrella hit him. It wasn't his problem. The last thing Bo saw before Crazy Keeny pulled her great-grandson inside and slammed the old door shut was the look of mingled anger, pain, and, above all, raw _fear_ on Jonathan's face.

When he heard muffled sounds of the old lady screaming at the boy, Bo turned and sprinted for home while he still had the chance. He tried not to listen, and he didn't look back once. Sure, he'd broken his promise, but he didn't feel bad about it. It was better that Jonathan got it than him.

As for Jonathan Crane, that was the first night he spent alone in the old Keeny chapel, with only the flock of crows which nested there for company.

It wouldn't be the last.


	3. Sherry

_He ate and drank the precious words,  
His spirit grew robust;  
He knew no more that he was poor,  
Nor that his frame was dust._

_- _Emily Dickinson_, A Book_

Halloween in Arlen was always something to remember. The juniors and seniors would have their own costume parties held at the local high school, some bordering on legendary, while the children would shuffle from house to house, gathering candy from both older friends and adults. The only house left untouched during the holiday was, of course, the Keeny house. Everyone knew better than to beg for candy from Crazy Keeny, especially her great-grandson.

Ever since he could remember, Jonathan Crane had stayed inside during Halloween, knowing that somewhere in town kids were smiling, laughing, and eating more candy than he'd seen in his entire life. He would have tried to sneak out and join the fun, but now he knew exactly what Gran would do to him if he was caught. Besides, he probably wouldn't have met with a very friendly reception anyway.

At times, it was almost impossible to bear, especially when he came to school and heard the other children brag in front of their friends about how much candy they had gotten. Of course, to a high school freshman like himself the seniors' costume parties were little more than myth: somebody claimed that his older brother had been to one, or a girl occasionally tried to lie her way into one to report back what they were like, usually with little success. Jonathan didn't care about these stories. He didn't especially like parties anyway, and hanging around a pack of boozing, rowdy seniors was not his idea of a good time. Besides, Gran didn't approve of teenagers in general, and would be angry if Jonathan started trying to make friends with them.

"Godless, that's what they are," she told Jonathan once, not long before Halloween. She had caught him listening to a borrowed rock and roll CD in his room, smashed it, and gave the terrified boy an especially vicious scolding. "They dress like hussies, listen to godless music, and I will not tolerate your so much as going near them." Jonathan, to save his own skin, agreed, and she spared him the crows.

But, still, he couldn't help but be a little bit curious about the holiday. It looked fun, for one thing. More importantly, he had something of a sweet tooth from what candy he managed to eat in the past. Risking Gran's wrath would be a mistake, but maybe he could somehow get permission, just for one night. If he showed the other kids that he was like them, maybe Bo and his gang would stop their bullying and become his friends instead.

When he ventured outside of the Keeny house the day after Gran broke his CD, he made his way to the Arlen public library, one of the few places in town where he could expect some good treatment from adults. The librarians knew all about Jonathan Crane and his voracious appetite for reading. For someone so young, he had no reluctance to plunge right into the classics. Even now, fourteen years old, he read authors above his age's usual reading level more eagerly than anyone else in Arlen.

"Why, hello there, Jonathan," he heard an older woman say. They knew him well by now, of course. "And what will you have today?"

"Not sure yet," he replied, settling down in a corner in the literature section and fingering the books. His hand brushed a small, red book with the title written in fine gold print. He took it out to give it a closer look when it caught his eye, reading the title out loud.

"_The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent_." Curious, he opened it to get the author's name. "Washington Irving. Can't say I've heard of him." He leaned back in the corner, trying to ignore the discomfort of his shoulders being wedged into such a small space. "Is he good?"

"Oh, yes. Very good." The librarian sounded bored, but Jonathan knew that this was mostly because she was both busy and well used to his questions.

"Well, thanks for the advice." Jonathan gave a quick nod and hunched up in the corner with the book, trying not to be seen. It hurt his back, but he was already too involved to care. Even though the library was one of the few places where he didn't have to worry about being picked on or harassed by Bo's gang, hiding was a matter of instinct at this point. He didn't have much time, but he hoped to get at least some of the book finished before he had to check it out and leave.

He could feel a lump grow in his throat at the thought of confronting Gran about anything, but it was now or never. Halloween would be in a few days, and he would have to swallow his fear so that he could talk Gran into buying him a costume and letting him go out. Seeing neighborhood kids, many of whom were his peers and classmates, tramping around outside with flashlights and bags stuffed almost to bursting with candy was unbearable. Last Halloween, Jonathan could have sworn that he heard his stomach growl as he watched. Afterwards, he had to deal with people asking him why he never came outside to join the local trick-or-treaters, which of course he couldn't explain. How could he?

But that was the advantage of the library. Reading helped him forget about his problems - Gran, the other kids, his empty belly. Even now, he dove into _The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent._ with the kind of attention that he always reserved for books. He thought with some satisfaction that the children who thought that he was stupid or lazy had obviously never seen him read.

Why, he'd never seen Bo or Brad or any of those muscle-heads so much as pick up a book, let alone read one. And they had the nerve to call _him_ the stupid one! For once sure of his own superiority, Jonathan immersed himself in his element, fishing out a dictionary to help him learn unfamiliar words. He may have been a loser and a failure at everything else he tried, but he knew he was smart, and he knew that he could read better than any of his enemies. Not that his intelligence was useful anywhere outside of the classroom or the library.

Most of Irving was fairly easy going for someone as experienced as him, and Jonathan quickly finished off a good part of the book before he had to go. It was getting late. However much he dreaded it, he would have to go home. Gran didn't like it when he read books other than her old black Bible or one of her yellow hymn-books, but he had smuggled his own books past her before and would again. His favorite hiding spot was a place under his bed, covered by a dirty brown blanket. He'd used it ever since he learned to read and hadn't been caught yet.

The librarian didn't look up as he came to her counter, checked out the Irving, and carefully slipped it into his satchel. Gran usually didn't bother to look there, making it another ideal place to hide things that he didn't want seen. Part of him hated having to trick her, but it was the only way he could smuggle books into the house, and he was prepared to do almost anything if it meant staying out of the chapel.

"Bye," he said with a wave to the librarian, rushing it, and strode out the door. As soon as he was outside, he broke into a run, careful not to slip on the sidewalk. It would be a bad start to the afternoon if he skinned his knee like he had the week before. He didn't see anyone coming, but held the satchel close to his side anyway. If he could only make it home without encountering any bullies or damaging the book, he might have a decent day.

When Jonathan slowed down for a moment to catch his breath, he heard a familiar voice and an even more familiar nickname. He whipped round, trying to hide his satchel. He had been hoping that this wouldn't happen, but apparently his hopes would go unfulfilled.

"Afternoon, Scarecrow. How ya doin'?" Bo Griggs, cocky as ever, emerged from behind a fencepost, but he wasn't with a member of his gang this time. As he turned to run, Jonathan saw to his surprise that there was a girl with him, roughly their age, her hair and eyes dark brown. She was holding Bo's hand. "Don't worry. I'm not here to mess with you. I just want you to meet my new girlfriend, Sherry Squires."

Sherry Squires. The name was vaguely familiar. She was a cheerleader at Arlen High - Jonathan saw her in the school paper once, with her friend Charlene Connors, both in uniform and celebrating the fact that the Chickenhawks had won the state football championship that year for the third time in a row.

"H-h-hello," Jonathan said, not in the least encouraged when he saw Sherry smirk. He came closer to get a closer look at her. She wasn't a bad-looking girl. In fact, she was very pretty, and he had to admit that Bo had picked a nice girlfriend for himself. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Squires, uh, Sherry..."

Bo ushered Sherry forward with a smile, and Jonathan felt his face flush with warmth. He had never been introduced to anyone before, let alone a girl, and had no idea of what to do to avoid looking stupid or rude. "Sherry, Scarecrow Crane. Scarecrow, Sherry."

Jonathan offered a hand in an attempt to be polite, but Sherry only stared at him like he was vermin. What she said next made him feel even worse.

"So, you're Jonathan Crane. I haven't seen you around town much, but Bo says you're weird. You look weird, too. You really are like a scarecrow. He wasn't kidding."

Jonathan's hand fell limp to his side while he tried not to seem too hurt by her remark. Of course she would think he was weird if all she knew about him was whatever garbage Bo spouted about the creepy Keeny boy. She didn't really know him as a person, only as a mess of rumors. Why, if she saw him for what he really was, she might just accept him one day. No, more than just accept him. _Like _him. Once she liked him, the rest of Arlen might just follow: Brad and Jason and all the kids, even Bo. And then...

"Hey! Hey, Scarecrow! What're you smiling about?" Bo's yelling snapped Crane out of his reverie, and he immediately staggered back with surprise and fright. He hadn't meant to cause trouble, and was barely aware of his own thoughts, but Bo looked extremely angry. Even Sherry, although this may have been wishful thinking on Jonathan's part, seemed a little put off by her boyfriend's outburst.

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Bo clearly wasn't amused by Crane's confusion, or else thought that he was faking it. "Listen up, Crane. Sherry's my girl. Not yours. If I ever see you so much as look at her strange, I'm gonna kick your skinny butt from here to Latham. Got that?"

Jonathan nodded quickly, seeing Bo drape a protective arm around Sherry as if to dare the other boy to try hitting on her again. There wasn't any need. Crane got the point, and he certainly didn't want to pick a fight. When Bo threatened to hit Crane, he meant it. Jonathan, realizing how close a call he had, replied with a sigh. "Got it. She's your girl. Not mine." He would have to be more careful next time, at least while Bo was around to hear. Getting hurt over a girl was not his idea of a good lead-up to Halloween.

"Good. I wouldn't want to start a fight in front of Sherry." Bo hugged Sherry, who, after a moment, hugged him back in a way that Jonathan found positively disgusting. They were so sickeningly physical that it seemed almost fake.

When they kissed, Jonathan rolled his eyes. The 'knight in shining armor' act would have sounded a lot better if Bo hadn't threatened to beat up Jonathan for just looking at Sherry. However, he wouldn't say what he wanted to tell the bigger boy for fear of ending up on the pavement with a foot in his pants and a broken nose. It was also in his interest to avoid a scuffle, although in his case the reasons were purely practical. He only wanted to make it home unhurt and with the Irving still in one piece.

Since he reasoned that attempting to improve his relationship with Sherry Squires wasn't worth, as Bo so delicately put it, getting his butt kicked, Jonathan chose to make himself scarce. He looked back for a moment at her, searching for sympathy in her eyes. There wasn't any. She looked at him as if he was something small and dirty, like a rat or a grease stain. He should have known that he didn't have a chance with her. Why would she want a scrawny, gawky scarecrow when she had Bo Griggs as a boyfriend? But her disgust made him feel as low and dirty as she probably thought he was, and like a rat he wanted nothing more than to get away.

While relationships in high school were often brief, superficial affairs, as much about reputation and social class as love, Jonathan knew that he and Sherry were most likely a bad match from the start. She probably wanted someone more like Bo or Brad Simmons, now star quarterback for the Arlen High Chickenhawks. Jonathan hadn't even tried out for the team. The Chickenhawks' team captain, Jackson Grey, told him not to bother in as many words, and much less delicately. Even if he got in by some miracle, he would never survive being charged at by a full team of football players in full gear. He was enough of a loser without failing at sports, too.

No one, least of all Sherry Squires, would want a loser for a boyfriend. Not when there were so many better catches available: Bo, Brad, Jason Bludhorn, and most of the football team for starters.

"Well," Jonathan finally said, trying to seem braver and stronger than he felt, "excuse me for being polite." He turned around, very intentionally sticking up his nose at them, and left Bo and Sherry alone. He tried to convince himself that he didn't give a darn what she thought he was, but this rang hollow even to himself. He didn't know why he cared what Sherry thought of him, but he did.

_Girls_, he thought bitterly as he made his way up the path to the Keeny manor. At least now he had an excuse to crack open the _Sketch Book_. He wanted to get Sherry Squires and her hateful, pretty eyes out of his head.

* * *

Jonathan, for once, was lucky. Even Granny Keeny had to leave the old manor every once in a while and go into town to stock up on food and other supplies. When she did, Jonathan more-or-less became master of the house. He already learned how to exploit this to some degree. He knew practically every inch of the old house, and had crawled into every hole and crevice there was to hide in.

Only one place remained untouched - an enclosed room on the second floor of the house. The door was always closed, and he had never seen what was inside. Ever since he was a toddler, Gran had warned Jonathan not to go there. Part of him wanted to visit, if only to satisfy his curiosity, but fear restrained him. For now, he didn't want to risk her anger and the old chapel. If not for those two things, he would have defied her order long ago. If there was one thing he loved as much as reading, it was exploring. Although part of it was to hide from his enemies at school, he genuinely liked learning new things, wriggling into holes, and seeing new places.

The door was unlocked when he turned the knob, and he quietly crept inside, just in case she wasn't out after all. He didn't see her or hear the creaking of her rocking chair. He sighed in relief, slinging his satchel across his shoulder before making his way upstairs to his room. Even though Jason Bludhorn had cheated him out of lunch and Sherry Squires made him feel like vermin, this would make up for it. Reading always helped him feel better.

Jonathan Crane's room was on the top floor of the old mansion, and once belonged to Marion when she was a girl. Jonathan, digging through dark corners and cabinets with thick enough dust to make him cough, had taken many of her old things for himself, reasoning that he needed them more than Marion did. Even though he knew very little about his grandmother, he knew that she had grown up and moved out long ago. Gran didn't buy him many toys to play with, and he didn't consider it stealing. Marion wouldn't mind.

When he was nine, he carried out a systematic, thorough exploration of his room, prying into every nook and cranny of it while taking out anything remotely in usable condition. Marion's old phonograph, a couple of records under the bed, a wooden rocking-horse with its left ear slightly cracked, a toy train with most of its paint gone, and several children's books were all brought out of the darkness, dutifully cleaned and restored to the best of Jonathan's ability, and adopted for his own use. He was especially proud of his fixing the phonograph. It took him more than a week to repair all of the broken parts and clean out its inner workings, making it usable again.

However, in his opinion, his best find was a teddy bear bigger than himself at that age, slouched in the back of Marion's closet and gathering dirt. Struggling with its weight, he pulled it out and placed it in the corner before cleaning it up. It was a fine old toy, too, in good condition, fur still soft and the colors on its clothes only a little bit dulled by age and being put away for so long. Whenever Jonathan felt upset, he would hug the filthy old thing and let it soak up his tears.

He grabbed a blue cushion from his bed, placed it between the bear's feet, and pushed himself back in his usual spot against its stomach. It was still warm and comfortable after years of being cramped up in Marion's closet. As he managed a slight smile, he opened his satchel and took out _The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent_. It was still in good shape, making him pleased that he'd kept his temper in check and avoided picking a fight with Bo. From now on, he would try and stay away from Sherry Squires, especially given how possessive Bo was of her.

_You're only thinking that because you can't have her_, he heard himself say in the back of his head. _Sour grapes_.

Forcing himself to smile, Jonathan opened the book and picked up where he left off, at the beginning of a story he was unfamiliar with. _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_, the black print read. Jonathan listened one last time for the sound of footsteps - he didn't want Gran to catch him with the book, especially since it was from the library and he didn't have the money to pay any fines - and was relieved when the only sound he heard was his own breathing. He was close enough to the bed that he could shove it under in time if he noticed her come home.

It was quite a good story, all things considered. Jonathan had always liked long words and rich descriptions, quickly finding himself completely absorbed in the world of eighteenth-century New England. The Keenys themselves were New Englanders in the beginning. He knew this from looking at old family histories, when he was at the stage of reading anything he could get his fingers around. As far as Gran was concerned, though, her branch was Georgian born and bred, and Jonathan knew better than to correct her.

The first thing that jerked him out of the story was the name of the story's protagonist. Ichabod Crane, schoolmaster of Sleepy Hollow, a fellow whose gawky frame and bookish ways reminded Jonathan vaguely and uncomfortably of himself. It didn't help that the two shared a surname.

"Well," he told himself with a nervous laugh, "there are plenty of people called Crane. It isn't exactly a rare name." If it had only been the name, he would have been able to dismiss it as a coincidence, but the unsettling number of similarities between the flesh-and-blood boy and the fictitious teacher were enough that it turned downright eerie.

Nevertheless, Jonathan couldn't turn away. As far as he could see, the main difference between them that he had noticed so far was the nature of their fearfulness. Ichabod was afraid of imaginary things like ghosts and goblins. Jonathan's fears were very real. He had the scabs and bruises to prove it. He felt superior to Irving's creation in that much. When he got to the part of the book where the schoolmaster was compared to a scarecrow, Jonathan almost shut it on the spot, half-intending to put it back in the satchel and take it back to the library, well and truly shaken.

He managed to plow through, swallowing his increasing sense of discomfort. Instead of disappearing, however, it curdled in his belly, making him sick all throughout the story. Unlike Jonathan Crane, however, Ichabod was sly enough to win people over to his side, with the exception of Brom Bones, the town daredevil. Of _course_. There was even a pretty woman that the two were fighting over, Katrina van Tassel.

"Clearly people haven't learned very much since then," said Jonathan, all the while backing up into the bear's comforting body. He couldn't help but cheer for the schoolmaster, if only because the two of them had so many things in common. He could even sympathize with Ichabod's plan to marry for money. After all, he wouldn't be above the same thing. If he had the slightest chance to move up the Arlen pecking order, he'd sink his teeth into it and refuse to let go. Reading about his literary counterpart's efforts, in fact, gave him a plan of his own.

Sherry Squires was the Katrina van Tassel of Arlen, Georgia. She was popular enough that one of the best players on the football team could court her, her family was well off, and any boy who got her permanent attentions would be set for life. If Jonathan could convince her that Bo was the wrong person for her and win her over at the same time, no one would ever make fun of him again.

Jonathan's smile turned into a toothy grin as he imagined it: Jackie Grey and the Chickenhawks completely at a loss, Bo Griggs in his football gear begging forgiveness at Crane's feet, and Sherry Squires at his side. His love for her would be real and true, unlike Bo's. He would be able to walk the streets of Arlen and see admiration in his schoolmates' eyes instead of disgust. Above all, no one would tease him again.

He was eager to see if the same thing would happen to Ichabod, but was bitterly disappointed to find that the schoolmaster's wariness was his undoing, exploited by his rival in an admittedly cunning way. In Ichabod's absence, Brom and the girl were married, and the thin man assumed dead. He snorted. Reading about the wretch, at least, had taught him what not to do! When courting his Katrina, he would be cleverer about it.

Frustrated, Crane was about to throw the book to the floor when he heard the familiar halting step of Gran coming up the stairs to his room. In an instant he shoved the book under his bed, in a dark corner where even he could barely see it. When she came in, with a bag of vegetables from town, even she couldn't wipe the smile plastered on her great-grandson's face.

Jonathan was lucky again. She didn't see the book or bother looking for it, instead ordering him downstairs for supper. Meals at the Keeny manor were always dreary. Gran sat opposite Jonathan, her narrow, suspicious eyes boring into him. The food was tasteless and stringy in Jonathan's mouth, difficult to chew, and he could feel it pile up in his gut. Even the ache that developed couldn't ruin his good mood. He didn't know if it was the food or the environment of the meal that ruined it for him.

"Gran," he said after swallowing a lump of lettuce, "I'd like to visit town for a bit after dinner. There's a place I want to go." He tried to sound brave, although his voice quivered a little.

"And what place is this, Jonathan?" she replied, glaring. He struggled to keep his nerve. "You don't want to go to those disgusting movies, do you?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Of course not. I just want to sit under the tree in the yard for a bit. Have a little rest. I had a long day." He yawned, trying his best to make it look convincing.

Gran, judging from her expression, wasn't fooled, and Jonathan's hopes sank. "As long as you come back before dark," she said, "and are just as you left. I will know if you lie to me."

"I will be, Gran," he said, bowing his head slightly. He would do as she said... mostly. As soon as he finished off his dinner, trying to lick the taste out of his mouth, he waited and watched her hobble into the living room to rest in her rocking chair. As soon as she was asleep, Jonathan moved, creeping upstairs and putting the Irving back in its satchel. He would hand it in first thing when he got to the library, check out a new book, and make it home before Gran woke up.

Thankfully, it was only a little dark when he made it outside, and he quickly found the apple tree where he had first met Bo Griggs. He stopped for a moment to pick an apple, biting into it and savoring the cool juice. When he was finished, he tossed aside the core for any animal lucky enough to find it. Now he felt much better.

The Arlen Public Library was open late, so he felt confident that he would make it in time. All he needed to do was borrow another book. He was in the mood for something more challenging than Irving had been, something more mature. With a better ending, with any luck- he hoped that Ichabod's fate, being hounded out of town and dismissed by everyone else in Sleepy Hollow as a dead man, wasn't a bad omen for his future plans with Sherry. At the very least, he told himself, it would take more than a pumpkin to scare _this_ Crane.

It would be the perfect revenge. First he would take Bo's girlfriend, and then he'd take his popularity. Bo would be the cringing, despised one while Scarecrow Crane would walk in pride, seen by all of Arlen for what he was. It would be a real pleasure to see the Chickenhawks groveling at his feet, Jackie begging him to join their team. More than that - resigning so that Crane could be team captain! Not that he'd accept, of course. Sports weren't his thing, but the thought of those big football jocks taking orders from him cheered him up considerably.

Also unlike Ichabod, he would enjoy victory over his rival and the love of the prettiest girl in Arlen High. It was within his grasp, if he played his cards just right and was careful around Bo. Getting his butt kicked would set his plan back considerably. He would have to be cunning about it.

He slunk in the library, checking the clock. It would close in half an hour. He had some time to look around.

"So," the librarian asked, "did you like Irving?"

"He was fine," Jonathan replied as he handed the book over. "My favorite story was that Sleepy Hollow one. It's just a shame about the ending. It was good right up until then."

That done, Jonathan withdrew into the literature section, scanning the titles for the book he wanted to read next. He ran his hand along their covers as he had before until it caught on one. Without thinking, he pulled it out, smiling. It was a fine book, a sturdy hardback with a handsome light brown cover. From the looks of it, it must have been quite old. A scan of the first few pages proved promising.

Putting it down, he opened it for a moment so that he could get the title. It wasn't a book he recognized, but he knew who the author was. He felt a thrill of delight and utter terror tingle up his spine. Oh, Gran would skin him alive for reading this one.

It was_ Ulysses,_ by James Joyce.


	4. Children of Darkness Got No Wings

_She's in my voice, in all I do!  
Her poison flows in all my veins!  
I am the looking-glass of pain  
Where she regards herself, the shrew!_

- Charles Baudelaire_, The Self-Tormenter_

Although Jonathan had to be careful about _Ulysses_, he was old enough and cunning enough that he could keep it hidden from Gran. He didn't understand all of it, but he liked the book's writing style, and read it any time he could find some peace and quiet. Such times were increasingly rare. He wanted to snatch a few minutes' reading time before school, but Gran was growing old and sick, and so there he was tending the fields again. He didn't like it. The flies were especially bad that day, and Jonathan suspected that they had developed quite the taste for his blood. They never seemed to bite Gran.

As he worked, she sat in an old wooden lawn chair and drank from a cup of water, shaded under a ragged parasol. While the heat wasn't as overbearing as it was during the summer, Jonathan felt very ill about thirty minutes in, and it took every ounce of strength in his small body to keep from collapsing. Not even his panting and sweat convinced her that he needed a break from work, and he became increasingly afraid that he would die of heatstroke. He would have asked if he could have a turn to rest under the umbrella, but he didn't dare. Besides which, he hadn't had a sip of water since he woke up. His tongue felt like it was about to shrivel up and fall out of his dry mouth.

"Gran?" he asked after a few moments, wiping the sweat from his damp forehead. "I have a question."

"What is it, boy?" Mary Keeny looked none too pleased to see Jonathan stop work. "Make this quick. The fields must be tilled before school begins."

Jonathan gave a weak smile, although inside he was trembling. He knew how careful he would have to be. "You know that next week is Halloween, Gran. Everyone in town will be out dressing up and eating candy, and I'd like to join them. They're having fun."

Gran rolled her eyes at her great-grandson's request, and Jonathan kicked the dirt in frustration. He should have known she wouldn't let him go. "Halloween. The night of the Devil. I should have guessed the idea of running around Arlen in a Satanic costume with your friends would appeal to you. Dressed up as little demons, giving old ladies strokes, or maybe dealing in petty vandalism like that Dunstan brat."

Jonathan knew what Gran was talking about. Last Halloween, George Dunstan, another Chickenhawk and one of Bo's more rowdy friends, had draped toilet paper all over an elderly neighbor's house as a prank. He never admitted it to the adults, but everyone in town knew who did it, including his parents. It was the talk of Arlen for weeks. Crane, of course, had no intention of doing this, and told Gran as much.

"You don't have to worry about that, Gran," said Jonathan. "I don't have anyone to go around with. I won't cause any trouble, if that's what you're worried about. All I want is a little candy to eat. All the other kids are doing it."

"You talk as if I don't feed you, boy." Jonathan, who had a hollow pit in his stomach where his breakfast should have been, could have argued that much. Gran, however, sipped her drink and stood up, watching him sternly. "Besides, we can't afford a costume. There are more important things for us to do. Get back to work." Satisfied with her argument, she leaned back in her chair.

"I don't need to pay for the food," Jonathan replied, laying aside his hoe and for once holding his ground. "If you get me a costume, I'll share my candy with you. Come on, Gran." He offered a hopeful smile, although he was increasingly sure that he wouldn't get anything from it. "It'll be fun. Maybe we could pray to God and ask Him for money."

Gran stood up, Jonathan instinctively shrinking back from the rage clear on her face. He had pushed his luck too far. He would be lucky if he got out of this one without being sent to the chapel after school, let alone being kept in the manor on Halloween night. He hadn't seen Gran this angry for days. She took her religion very seriously, and he was sure that mentioning God had done it.

"You greedy child! We are a proud family and live on what the Lord has seen fit to give us." Gran's voice rose to a screech. Crane was increasingly sure that he'd blown his chance for any candy in a week's time. He began to regret that he had spoken up.

He hung his head, trying his best to look sorry, and picked up the hoe to get back to work. He looked up, seeing the ragged form of the family scarecrow against the sun, its stitched face seeming to laugh at the boy. Just seeing it made Jonathan furious. He wanted to grab a stone and throw it at the burlap figure, or tear it to pieces with his bare hands. Anything to get rid of that face!

"Do you hear me, Jonathan?" Gran's harsh voice jolted Crane back to his senses. Maybe it wasn't too late to try and patch up his mistake. Years of living with her had taught Jonathan how to talk to her and made him very good at wriggling out of trouble by any means necessary.

"Sorry, Gran," he said, although he was lying through his teeth. He wasn't the least bit sorry for what he had said. If he had been completely honest, he would have asked for a little water, a few minutes' rest under the parasol, a decent costume, and a bellyful of candy on Halloween night. However, he knew better than to try Gran's patience any longer. With a sigh, he picked up the hoe and returned to work. He could dream, at least.

When Gran was satisfied with the fields, Jonathan was all too happy to drop the hoe and dart indoors to change into his school clothes and grab his satchel. First, he made sure to visit his room and pick up his copy of _Ulysses_. He wanted to keep Gran from finding the book, so he secretly hid it in his satchel and closed it up tight. After quickly checking that it couldn't be seen, he waved a rushed good-bye to Gran in her chair and ran up the path to school. She didn't even look up, but he hadn't expected her to.

He was actually relieved. As cruel as his schoolmates could be, at least he could expect something to drink at Arlen High.

The first thing he did on getting there, via his usual route close to the apple tree, was find a water fountain and take a good long, cool drink. The water tasted faintly of chlorine, but he was too thirsty to care. He wiped it from his face and went to class, feeling only slightly better.

When he was under the watchful eyes of his teachers in the classroom, Jonathan's schooldays usually went by with relatively little trouble. He got high scores, particularly in his English and science courses, easily the top student in both classes. This didn't help his already-present reputation as a nerd and a freak. As for the hallway, he would make his way from class to class as quickly as he could, trying not to attract the attention of any bullies.

While he tried his best to try not to hear the whispers in the hall as he passed by, Jonathan couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when he saw Arlen High's glass trophy cabinet, each cup and medal sorted by date and cleaned until it shone. Above it, a red-and-brown banner congratulated the football team for their three-year record, decorated by Arlen High's mascot, a light gray cartoon hawk kicking a football. Football was one of the most important things for the students of Arlen High, if not _the_ most important thing. Jonathan, as far as he knew, was the only exception. He focused on his classwork, which is what he thought school was for in the first place.

As a reward for all his hard work and good grades, he would most likely make honor roll for his first semester. Not that anyone would care, of course - they would be too busy cheering on Jackie and his crew of helmeted thugs. Jackie boasted that, under his leadership, the Chickenhawks would make it to the championship for their fourth year, a record for the school. A great deal of expectations were placed on him, and he was all to happy to glory in them for all they were worth.

Over the next few weeks, everything at Arlen High would center around Jackie Grey and that stupid football game. There would be events where Jonathan would be expected to cheer for the same boys who tortured him for fun. It made him sick to his stomach, so sick that he could barely bring himself to pick at his lunch. He didn't care much for school milk and mashed potatoes, anyway.

During fourth period, the English teacher handed his students their new reading books before the announcer came on the school's PA system, instructing all of the students to go to the gymnasium. It was a pep rally. Jonathan hated pep rallies - they were loud, obnoxious, and disrupted class time.

He knew what was going on, too. The Chickenhawks had a big game coming up against the Latham High Grizzlies after Halloween, and the school athletes were reveling in it. Jonathan didn't especially care. In fact, part of him wanted to come to the game and cheer for the Grizzlies, just to spite Jackie and Bo. If he did that, of course, they would murder him. As a bit of small revenge against the jocks, he decided to skip the pep rally. Instead he spent the whole of fourth period alone in his English classroom reading James Joyce. He considered it an act of rebellion.

When the bell rang for the end of the day, Jonathan retreated into an empty chemistry classroom to escape the students stampeding out of the gym. Before he set off to go himself, he checked his things to make sure that his books were all there. His textbooks were safe, and he had his required reading for Honors English. He scanned its title - _Lord of the Flies_. How appropriate.

Underneath them, hidden deep in his satchel, was his secret copy of _Ulysses_. Before going home, he would try to get some reading done. He owed himself the pleasure.

Some distance from the main building, there was a small, grassy hill with a tree growing on it. He sprang onto it, scrunching himself up against the tree's bark and watching the other children wander around. Although he didn't know most of them, he recognized Sherry chatting with Charlene Connors as both of them got on the bus. Bo was there, talking to Sherry, while Charlene was with Brad Simmons, now her boyfriend and Bo's friendly rival on the football team. Their presence kept Crane from approaching Sherry. So much for his plan.

Jonathan, trying not to draw attention to himself, curled up to bury his face in _Ulysses_. Knowing Bo's gang, the other boys were out looking for him. Maybe, if he hid well enough, Jonathan could get away without a beating.

"Look! He's right where I said he'd be! If it ain't Scarecrow Crane, in the flesh!" Jonathan knew the voice. It was Jackie Grey, team captain of the Arlen High Chickenhawks, in his usual black T-shirt and blue jeans, leading George Dunstan and Jason Bludhorn over to Crane's tree. Although more lightly built than the other two boys, Jackie was stronger than he looked, and Crane knew better than to pick a fight with him. Crane pretended not to notice them, but all the while tensed his muscles for the inevitable run.

"Hey! Scarecrow! Punk!" Jason spoke this time, slamming a fist into his open hand. "Not nice to ignore people."

Jonathan had to admit that he was good and trapped. Even if he ran away, the three boys were both stronger and faster. They would catch him with little trouble. Chances were that they would beat him harder then. Fighting them would be an even worse idea, as he was outnumbered. There wasn't really a way to escape unless he could talk his way out.

Jason laughed when he saw _Ulysses_ clutched to Jonathan's skinny chest. "I think that's a new book he's got! Look at the size of that thing!"

"Go away, Jason," Jonathan said, his voice quiet but angry as he closed his book. "I'm not bothering you. Let me read in peace."

"What is that, anyway?" Jackie came to the front, grabbing the book out of Crane's hands and letting it dangle open. Jonathan cringed as he watched. He hated it when they damaged his books to begin with, and the Joyce was worth a respectable fee.

"None of your business," Jonathan replied, starting to stand. "Give it back!" Before he could make a grab for the book, Jason slugged him in the stomach and he fell, winded. As Jackie pretended to read, George and Jason attacked Jonathan, slamming the boy to the ground and repeatedly kicking him.

"He's so skinny," George said with a nasty laugh. "I can feel his bones. So that's why they call him Scarecrow!"

Jonathan, clutching his ribs, struggled to breathe as Jackie showed Jason the book. "_Ulysses_, huh? Ain't that a TV show? One of those superhero ones with mutants and weirdos and stuff. 'Course, I doubt a weirdo like you has a TV."

"No, that's the _Odyssey, _by Homer. This one's by James Joyce. Different people." Jonathan got to a sitting position, his body aching with what would be bruises in a few minutes. "Not that I'd expect you to know that," he said under his breath. "Now, please give it back and I won't tell."

George nudged Crane with his foot as a warning. "Shut it, Scarecrow, unless you want more kickin'. You don't, do you?" Jonathan shook his head, eyes wide and terrified. "Good. You aren't as dumb as you look."

Jonathan was about to remark that he wasn't the stupid one, but remembered the hard shoes in his side and shut up. All he wanted was to get out, hopefully with the book.

"What kinda stupid name is James _Joyce_?" Jason shook his head. "'Not surprised you like him. Your name's stupider than his." He jammed a foot into Jonathan, making the smaller boy fall on his back before Jason planted a foot on his belly to hold him down. "How 'bout we make a deal with him, Jackie?"

Although he tried to complain, the foot on Jonathan's stomach hurt him so much that he could barely move. He blinked when he saw Jackie smile. George and Jason made Crane get up, folding his arms behind his back. He cried out, unable to hold in the pain for any longer.

"Great idea. All right, Scarecrow." Jackie folded his arms and smirked. Jonathan didn't say anything, his head bowed. "Look at me when I'm talking to you. That's better. Now, I'm a nice guy. I'll make a deal. Either you stay here with us or we tear up your stupid fairy book."

Jonathan didn't speak, but he could feel his throat constrict. It wasn't much of a choice. He would take any chance to get away, and would have sacrificed one of his own books to do so, but the Joyce wasn't his to give up. He looked at _Ulysses_, dangling from Jackie's hand, its pages fluttering in the breeze. He thought about the bruises he already had and the others that would come his way.

"Come on. We don't have all day. Pick, you little idiot! _Now_!"

"How about we pick for him?" Jason pulled a match from his pocket, followed by a small white box.

Jonathan realized what they wanted to do and started to struggle, George holding him tight as Jason lit the match. Jackie took it and showed it to Crane, his smile vicious. "You know what this is, right, Scarecrow?"

Crane would have lunged if Jason and George hadn't been holding him fast. "No! Please! Let me go!"

"All right, we'll burn your fairy book instead." Jackie held the match dangerously close to the book, and Crane panicked.

"No!" He tried to worm his way out of their grip, but the boys were too strong. "Put it down! Anything but that!"

Jackie, still smiling, lowered the match. "Anything? All right, then. George, Jason, the scarecrow's made his pick. It'll be him."

"No! Please!" Jonathan fought as Jackie grabbed a hand, choosing a finger and holding the match so close that the other boy could feel the heat. The four of them were alone in the schoolyard by then, and no one heard Jonathan's agonized, terrified screams.

* * *

If Gran noticed the fresh burn marks under Jonathan Crane's nails and between his fingers, she didn't say anything about them. As soon as she went for her afternoon nap, Jonathan quickly ran upstairs to check on his book. His hands still stung in the places where Jackie had applied the matches, but he was still alive, and _Ulysses_ was in good shape, considering what had been done to it. It could have been a lot worse. He wasn't in the mood to read, as he was tired and hurt. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Before crawling into bed, he slipped _Ulysses_ into its usual spot, although this time he forgot to cover it with the blanket. His body ached all over, making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything. Jonathan grabbed a frilly white pillow and curled up, trying not to think of the pain. Gran had medicine and bandages somewhere, no doubt, but she would just tell him that suffering was God's way of making him strong. He would feel better when he woke up.

He didn't dream, at least not a dream that he remembered. This was a good thing, as his dreams were very rarely pleasant ones. Gran filled his brain with nightmares of the chapel: black feathers, cold dark eyes, and jabbing beaks. Getting up was even more of a relief for him, even when it was Gran's screeching that roused him. Blinking the last bits of sleep out of his eyes, Jonathan came downstairs for supper. He was still only partly awake, and didn't notice that the book hidden under his bed was gone.

Gran seemed unusually irritable at dinner. While she didn't speak, her beady eyes were fixed on Crane all through the meal. It was some kind of vegetable broth. Jonathan sampled it with his spoon, shivering with disgust. It tasted terrible, almost too cold to eat. He knew that Gran had deliberately left it to cool, and it was a household rule that he finish every last bite before leaving the table. This was a punishment of some kind. However, the fact that Jonathan didn't know what he was being punished for made it even worse.

After he managed to choke down a good amount of the cold broth, Gran finally decided to explain herself. "You thought you could get away with lying to me, Jonathan? You know the rules of this house."

"Of course not," Jonathan replied, still holding a spoonful of food. "I'm not hiding anything from you."

That was a mistake. She looked up, her own blue eyes hard and cold, and Jonathan shrank back in his chair, a huge red velvet thing that made him feel small and defenseless. She didn't have to say a word. He knew that she wasn't fooled by his weak lie.

"Today I cleaned your room while you were sleeping after school and made a most _interesting_ discovery. It was hidden rather poorly under your bed." Gran produced an all-too-familiar brown book, slightly damaged from being dangled open earlier in the day. _Ulysses_. "Do you know what this is, Jonathan?"

Jonathan knew that he was in bad trouble. If it had been_ Lord of the Flies_, he could have explained it away as a book that he needed for school, but he couldn't do the same for the Joyce. Gran didn't know about his secret visits to the town library, and if she found out about them he wouldn't ever be able to come back. He would do whatever it took to protect that secret.

"Don't play dumb, boy. I know what this book is. In my day this trash was banned, as it still should be. You must have found such pleasure in this book, yes? Reading all the dirty bits, fouling your sheets at night when you thought I wasn't there to see." Jonathan had done no such thing, of course, and his voice quivered when he spoke in his own defense.

"Please, Gran, I didn't. It's only a book, not trash. It's actually very good. You should read it yourself, give it a fair chance." Her expression didn't change, and Jonathan realized the full consequences of what he had done. He would be lucky if _Ulysses_ ever made it back to the library.

"Where did you find it? Tell me, boy! The complete truth!"

Her voice made Jonathan cringe, but he straightened. He had no choice but to lie if he wanted to save the book and his trips to the library. After years of living with Gran, he knew the kind of lie that she would believe.

"I went upstairs, while you were taking your nap, and went into the room behind the closed doors. I was bored and was looking for something to read. It was lying on one of the shelves, and I got curious and took it. I only wanted to borrow it for a week or two. I would've given it back, I promise." Since Jonathan had never actually entered the room, a lot of his description was guesswork. He hoped that it was accurate enough.

Gran's eyes narrowed. "You are forbidden to enter that room, boy, and you know that as well as I do."

Jonathan realized that, while she believed his lie, he may have made things even worse for himself. "I understand. Please, Gran, I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise!"

"I'll see to it that you don't." Gran looked up to the heavens in despair. "You are an incorrigible child, Jonathan. You remind me of your mother. Sinful. Lazy. Obsessed with filth."

While Jonathan knew very little about his mother, Karen Keeny, he had learned enough through town gossip to know that Gran hated her granddaughter. Karen had a reputation for short, casual relationships with visiting men. Jonathan's father was presumably one of these men, although the boy knew even less about him. All he knew was that his father had left Georgia back when Jonathan was only a baby.

"My mother?" he asked, curious. "What was wrong with her?"

"She was nothing but lying, slutty filth. Always having relations with strange men. That's where you came from, boy, one of her precious one-night stands. A local sailor whose own family turned him out for his sinful ways. When you were born, she couldn't love you. She could barely stand to look at you. She gave you up, and I took you in out of Christian charity. Some days I wonder why I bothered." Gran put her dish away, standing. "No more wasting time, Jonathan. You know the punishment for going in the forbidden room."

Jonathan did, and he dreaded it. However, to admit to his lie would make things even worse, as Gran hated liars. He nodded silently, accepting the punishment, even though his heart pounded and his stomach churned, both from fear and the disgusting meal he had eaten. By this point _Ulysses_ was as good as gone. Getting the book back was the least of his concerns.

"I think, boy, that it's time you spent the night in the family chapel. Remember to wear the proper clothing. Go upstairs, find your Sunday suit, and put it on before you come back." Gran, revulsion clear on her face, made a dismissive gesture.

As soon as she finished speaking, Jonathan scampered up the steps, opening his closet and finding the suit he usually wore for Sunday services. He hated it. He would have hated it even if he didn't associate it with the chapel. It looked like a miniature tuxedo, very tight and close to his skin, and he preferred loose-fitting clothes. All the same, Gran wanted him to wear the Sunday suit, and he had no choice.

Besides being frightened, Crane didn't understand everything Gran had said about his mother. She must have been right that Karen had never loved him. She wouldn't have given him up if she had. However, he was too worried to think about the question any more, hands sweating and breathing quickened. There was no way out this time. Like in the confrontation with the three Chickenhawks at school, he was caught.

He came downstairs as slowly as possible, hands clenched. The most he could hope for was that the punishment ended quickly. "Here I am, Gran," he said, his voice shaking. As soon as his feet touched the floor she was upon him, grabbing his ear and yanking it hard. Although he wanted to, Jonathan managed not to cry out. She gripped his arm, surprisingly strong for an arthritic old woman, and pulled him out the door.

It was a cool night, with a full moon, and at any other time Jonathan would have enjoyed the peace and quiet. He liked to visit the garden when Gran was out, relaxing beside a tree with one of his books, but always stayed away from the old chapel. Now, with Gran gripping his arm so tightly that it hurt and the very same chapel looming up ahead, Jonathan found it impossible to feel anything besides utter fear.

"You know why you're coming here, don't you?" Jonathan tried to reply, but he was unable to say anything. His tongue seemed to swell up in his mouth. "I've warned you to keep your prying nose away from that room, Jonathan."

"Why?"

Gran yanked his ear again. "Don't question me, boy! Just do as you're told!"

Jonathan finally managed a weak nod. "Gran," he said, "I just saw the book lying there and I was curious. I swear, I didn't look at anything else."

"Such a filthy little liar you are! You are your parents' son, no question of that. Lies are the stuff of the Devil himself, boy, and your fouled tongue must be cleansed before you come back to the house."

"We were talking about our family. Tell me more." Jonathan knew that the chapel was inevitable, but he would hold it off if he could. He knew that appealing to Gran's sense of family pride might buy him some time. "Please."

Gran paused for a moment, the boy trembling and desperate in her grasp. "What do you want to know now, boy?"

"Tell me about the chapel. It's ours, isn't it?"

"It was my mother's idea," Gran said, her eyes seeming to fog over as she thought back. However, her hand remained on Jonathan's arm in case the child tried to break free and run. "He made our family rich, and she wanted a chapel to show it. Father dreamed of an aviary, however. He loved birds, more than he loved his own children, and he demanded them. Fancied himself a collector. They compromised. An aviary it was, while she insisted on holding our Sunday sermons there. We weren't the only family who used the chapel. I remember going inside as a girl." Jonathan knew this part of the story well. There was a framed black-and-white photograph of the Keeny aviary hanging up in the living room. Despite his fear of it, he had to agree with Gran that it had looked beautiful back then. "We were the envy of our neighbors. Father loved showing off his pets. He spent hours with the parrots alone, hand-feeding them and teaching them to talk."

Jonathan could see the chapel now. It was now a dying place, the stained glass windows all broken long ago and ivy creeping across its stones as if to slowly suffocate the old building. He was surprised that it hadn't fallen to pieces before he was born. It looked like it was about to collapse. Slowly, but surely, the last sign of the Keenys' glory days was falling apart. Gran hadn't taken any steps to preserve or care for the chapel, despite her nostalgia, and didn't bother to clean it. Whenever he walked in the garden, Jonathan would watch his step for shards of colored glass. He had cut himself more than once.

There were no birds there now except for the crows who nested there at night. Apart from their calls, the old chapel was silent and lifeless. Even when he was safe from punishment, Jonathan avoided it like death. He had an instinctive fear of it after fourteen years, and with good reason.

"And people came! Father's aviary was the glory of Georgia, and he relished that. He doted on his pets: feeding them, teaching them, loving them. Some of them were like children to him - more than his own son and daughter." Gran, not pausing from the story, began fiddling with the old chapel's wooden door. She, as Jonathan knew, kept the key with her day and night. He tensed, waiting. This wasn't the worst part of the punishment, not yet, and he wouldn't let his guard drop. "Father would go into the aviary and train the birds to do tricks for us and for visitors. His favorites were the parrots, of course, but I loved the birds of paradise best. They reminded me of Heaven's angels, guardians of our family."

On the last word, she swung the door open, and in a single sudden movement flung Jonathan inside as he protested.

"No! Please! I'll never do it again!"

His pleas didn't help, and he landed on the stone floor of the chapel, briefly stunned as she continued her lecture. By this point, he no longer cared about the story. Gran was talking to herself.

"It didn't last, of course. The chapel was deserted after the stock market crash. With the money gone, our neighbors shunned us. The birds were sold off to zoos or shot, since we could no longer afford to maintain the aviary. My father became thin and weak, went down to our fruit cellar one evening, and blew his skull to pieces with the same gun he used on the birds he couldn't sell. Mother said that he couldn't bear what he did to them. Unable to live without him, she hung herself from despair." She shook her head, disgusted by her parents' cowardice. "Always a weak woman, was Mother."

Jonathan had recovered by then, but she slammed the door shut even as he clambered to his feet, the sound echoing off stone walls. He ran to it, kneeling, desperate to reason with her. He listened to her voice and movements through the door. If he could hear her, she could hear him.

"Gran! Let me out! I'll do anything you want! I'm sorry! Let me out, please! _Please_!" He shouted until his voice rasped and his tongue became sandpaper. His knuckles hurt from pounding on the door. "I shouldn't have taken the book!"

"I was the one who found her body," Gran said as she worked at the door, ignoring the knocks from the frantic boy inside. "We were left on our own. Myself. Marion, who for her faults knew how to look out for herself. Filthy, lying Karen, and her whelp of a son, Jonathan Crane. You. Nothing but a bad seed, born of sin. After my parents' deaths, we had to become strong and trust in God. It was all we had left. It was enough. We lived."

Behind the door, Jonathan, weak as he was, threw himself at it with all of his strength, trying to get her attention. She ignored him, and he heard a single _click_ as it locked, leaving him trapped. He knew what would happen next. "Please, Gran! Let me out! Help! Help!"

"The crows are God's agents, Jonathan, sent by Him to help you." Her voice was growing quiet, and he had to put his ear to the door to catch her words. "This is a harsh world and weakness won't do, or you'll die like my parents. God will make you strong through the crows if you let him. I learned that lesson when I was a girl, and now you will learn it, too. It kept me alive all these years. If you are going to survive, Jonathan, trust no one but yourself and the Good Lord."

He fell to his knees, exhausted, eyes wet with tears. His lungs were seared from all of the yelling, but he had no other way to be heard. "Please! Let me out! I can learn, but not this way! Anything but this! I'll -" The pain in his throat forced him to stop. By this point, her voice was very faint. She was singing something, but he couldn't make out the words. Even if he could, he had much more serious concerns by that point.

Jonathan turned, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The floor was coated with shattered glass and it was hard for him to see, so he couldn't walk for fear of hurting himself. The chapel was completely dark, apart from a little moonlight which got in through a gaping hole in the cage-like roof. The irony wasn't lost on Crane. The old aviary was still a cage, although it no longer held birds. The only things that he could hear in the silence were his own rapid breaths and heartbeat. He instinctively looked up at the hole in the roof.

For a moment, he dared to hope that God would be merciful and that he would spend the night cold and sick but unhurt. However, the flutter of wings far away dashed his hopes to pieces. A screeching flood of crows erupted through the hole and into the chapel, talons spread and their dark eyes focused directly on Jonathan Crane. He braced himself, standing firm in a final attempt to discourage them, but they were on him in moments. They tore at his hair, his clothes, and, when they could get at it, his skin. He screamed, partly out of pain and partly out of one last hope that some kind passerby would hear and he could get help.

Help didn't come, not that Jonathan expected it to.

Finally Jonathan's voice turned raw and he stopped screaming. Instead he covered his head and shielded his face with one arm while swatting at the crows with the other. If he got his hands on one of the birds, he would have wrung its neck, but there were too many and they were too strong. The most he could do was bear the pain until they eventually stopped attacking and returned to their perches.

When they finished, the crows flew to the roof of the chapel to sleep for the rest of the night, leaving Jonathan on the floor, bleeding. Open scratches were on his arms and chest from places where the suit had been torn by the birds' claws. The sleek tuxedo now had his dried blood on it. It would be fixed, of course. Gran always fixed his Sunday suit. He cowered in the darkness, unable to sleep on the hard stone, watching the crows cautiously to see if they would come back.

When the old wooden door opened with daybreak, the light stung Jonathan's eyes even as he stumbled outside, little more than a trembling, pale, exhausted wreck. A few feet away, a group of brown finches were out searching for worms. Their presence enraged Jonathan. Barely thinking, he charged into the flock, feeling a rush of savage animal joy as the little birds scattered in fear and fled into the trees.


	5. Halloween

_So little cause for carolings_  
_Of such ecstatic sound_  
_Was written on terrestrial things_  
_Afar or nigh around,_  
_That I could think there trembled through_  
_His happy good-night air_  
_Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew_  
_And I was unaware._

- Thomas Hardy, _The Darkling Thrush_

Several days after he was sent to the chapel, Jonathan Crane had more-or-less given up on Halloween. He knew what he would be doing when the day came and everyone else in his school was wandering the streets of Arlen, collecting candy and playing games - sitting alone in the Keeny manor, alone with the scabs from Jackie's matches and the crows' claws. After what had happened, he would be lucky if Gran even let him out of the house. This was just as well, since he needed time to recover.

He wasn't looking forward to missing out on the candy. If there was one reason he wanted to participate in Halloween, outside of a chance to prove that he was like the other boys and possibly get Sherry's respect, it was because the holiday offered a rare opportunity for him to fill his stomach with something other than Gran's vegetable dishes. Just seeing the cookies, candies, and other treats on display in the windows of local shops made him lick his lips. He would have loved to visit a local store and buy some for a snack, but Gran only gave him money for school lunches. As she said, she couldn't afford to lend out any more.

He wasn't the only one staying behind this year, although that was only a small relief. George Dunstan's parents, as punishment for his toilet paper prank the previous year, were keeping him indoors and under their watch. Jonathan had a difficult time feeling sorry for him, especially when he looked at the burn marks on his hands.

The rest of the Chickenhawks would go as a group: Jackie Grey, Bo Griggs, Brad Simmons, and Jason Bludhorn. Their cheerleader hangers-on would accompany them, of course. Bo had Sherry Squires, while Brad Simmons was still going out with Charlene Connors.

Jonathan honestly had no idea how long Brad and Charlene would stay together. His suspicion was that Brad's only reason for having a girlfriend was to imitate Bo, his closest friend. He had very little in common with Charlene. They bickered constantly, and over the most petty of things. Brad would skip dates in favor of football practice. Charlene would deliberately get "sick" before Chickenhawk games if they were on bad terms. Then, after a week or two of arguments and threats, the lovebirds would make up, only for the cycle to repeat itself. Their fights were a popular source of amusement at Arlen High, for both Jonathan and the rest of the football team alike.

If only Sherry and Bo were like that. If they were, it would have been easy for Jonathan to drive a wedge between the couple, win Sherry's attentions, and get a girlfriend for himself while ruining Bo's social life. Unfortunately, Sherry seemed to genuinely like Bo, and vice versa. Superficial as it was, there must have been a degree of real affection in their relationship. Jonathan didn't know if he could break them up, even if he had a plan to, which he didn't. First he would have to think about what he had to offer that Bo didn't, and then gain her trust and friendship. They wouldn't split on their own, that much was clear enough. Jonathan would have to help them apart.

He watched them in the hallway as they talked to Brad and Jason Bludhorn over a can of soda. Bo gave a braying laugh over something Sherry said, Jason joining in. Crane's eyes narrowed in resentment and hate. Although Jackie was arguably the most outright cruel of the bullies, Bo had antagonized Jonathan Crane since both of them were children, and Jonathan hadn't forgiven or forgotten Bo's betrayal during the game of tag seven years ago. With some thinking, he could understand the larger boy's popularity. While Bo could be vicious toward Jonathan, he was quite the opposite towards Sherry and the other Chickenhawks. He was well known for buying cans of soda for the team to cool themselves off after a big game.

This did nothing to change Crane's opinion of Bo, but he knew why Griggs was so well-liked. Assuming that Bo was nothing but a big stupid jock with a football instead of a brain would be a mistake. He may not have had Crane's intelligence and test scores, but he could win people over. Getting the other kids to dislike the class hero would be next to impossible. Jonathan, though, was willing to satisfy himself with Sherry. That would be humiliation enough for Bo. Turning the school against his old enemy would be a pleasant fantasy, on the other side of things. Jonathan always kept an ear pricked for a bit of unsavory gossip that he could take advantage of.

Both of them would be going out for Halloween. That was reason enough for Jonathan Crane to come along, if just to spy. However, he didn't have a costume, and without one he was trapped in the house even if Gran gave him permission in a fit of generosity. He loitered inside the building, staying away from the tree in case Jackie came back there looking for him. His hands still felt sore, and he was furious with the Chickenhawks.

If it hadn't been for Jackie and the bullies, he wouldn't have been taken to the chapel. He never had finished _Ulysses_, either. Gran hadn't destroyed it, as far as he knew, but must have taken it to the forbidden room. Once there, it was as good as burned. He sighed. All in all, it hadn't been a good week.

He stood up, trying to ignore the dull pain in his hands. The school nurse had been much more helpful than Gran when it came to treating his burns. They would heal in the next few weeks, with any luck. He hadn't found the courage to tell her how he had really gotten hurt. If he got Jackie Grey, football hero, suspended, there would be an outrage. Although he wouldn't have minded seeing Jackie kicked out of school, the bullying would only get worse if the team captain went.

All the same, he wanted his revenge. He was fed up with running and hiding and covering up for what other people did to him. The only catch in his scheme was that he needed to make sure that no one knew who was really responsible. He cringed as he remembered what he had told the nurse earlier in the day.

"It was an accident," he had said as she applied ointment to the burnt skin between his fingers. "I was using a match, and it must have slipped." Thankfully, the wounds weren't as gruesome as Crane had feared, and she believed him. The scratches from the crows were hidden underneath his shirt and sleeves, slowly healing. No one ever saw, let alone asked, about those. He wasn't sure what he'd say if anyone did.

To avoid trouble from the Chickenhawks, he decided to stay inside and wait them out. Tired after a long day at school, he lounged on the bleachers in the empty gymnasium. Usually he avoided it, but the football players were outside for practice and it was quiet enough at the moment to suit his purposes. He opened his satchel and returned to his school copy of _Lord of the Flies_. He would have rather read _Ulysses_, but getting it back would mean entering the forbidden room and risking the chapel. Crane wasn't so keen to gamble after his last experience with the crows. He had three chapters of the book to read before class on Monday, anyway.

It was an interesting enough read, but with one glaring flaw. In Jonathan's opinion, children did not need to be stranded on a deserted island and dress in war paint to act like complete barbarians.

When he heard the door to the gymnasium rattle, he instinctively shoved his book into his satchel and tried his best to be inconspicuous. It didn't work.

"Hello there, Scarecrow! How ya doin'?"

"I've been better. Before I saw you, for instance." Jonathan couldn't stop himself from smiling slightly when he saw Sherry beside Bo, wearing her cheerleading uniform. He relaxed on the bleachers, hiding his fear behind bravado.

"Talking smart, huh?" There was a note of irritated malice behind Bo's faked good mood. He folded his arms and glowered at Jonathan, who scuttled up a few steps higher, just in case.

"Better than talking stupid," replied Jonathan with a forced, calm smile, "but that's beside the point. How are you and Sherry?"

"What's it matter to you?" Bo asked, suspicious. "Remember what I said. Sherry's my girl..."

Trying not to seem nervous, Jonathan leaned back and yawned. "And not mine. I know, I know. I was just curious. Heard somewhere that Brad and Charlene are breaking up, and I was just making sure I'd heard correctly."

"Really?" Sherry faced Bo, genuinely surprised from the looks of her. "I was just talking to Charlene an hour ago, and she didn't say that. I know they fight, but..."

"Scarecrow's just mouthing off," Bo told her, shooting a look at Crane on the bleachers. "He made it up. Brad and Charlene are still together, as far as I know. What're you up to? If you're tryin' to make moves on Sherry, I can tell you here and now that it ain't gonna work. Sherry's been with me for all of high school."

"What's that been, two months?" Jonathan threw back his head and cackled. He knew that mocking Bo was a dangerous move, especially after his recent encounter with Jackie, but he couldn't resist, and he was a safe distance away. "You're a freshman like me. Remember?"

Bo started forward, clearly fed up with Crane's taunts. "Now, see here, Scarecrow, you'd better shut that smart mouth of yours before you get a fist to the face." Jonathan, knowing from harsh experience that Bo probably meant his threat, obeyed. His burned hands reminded him not to push the bullies too far. He would have his victory, but he had to be patient. "Say, why are you so chatty all of a sudden?"

"What happened to your hands?" Sherry asked, more curious than concerned. "Where did those gross marks come from?"

Jonathan held them up to expose the injured area. Playing for sympathy wouldn't be a bad idea. "See the spaces between my fingers? Jackie Grey did that. Burned me with a match while two of his friends held me down. The skin underneath my fingernails is burned, too. It still hurts."

Bo brushed it off, trying to keep up his tough demeanor, although he did seem a little unsettled by Jonathan's burns. Sherry looked either horrified or disgusted. Jonathan was hoping for the former. "_Jackie_ did that? He said that he doesn't like it when people skip pep rallies, and I didn't see you at the last one."

"It was. Ask him yourself. I'm surprised that he hasn't been boasting about it." Jonathan edged himself a little closer to the open gym door. "To change the subject, Bo, are you and Sherry going out for candy tonight? I'll be joining you two with any luck." He gave a jerky nod, fastening his satchel shut.

Bo burst out laughing while Sherry smirked again, Jonathan's self-confidence plummeting as they did. "Of course we are. My gang's going round the town together. Except for George, 'cause the idiot got himself grounded."

Jonathan shrugged. Frankly, he couldn't have cared less, and it was just as well for him that George was out of the way. To add to the irony, Jonathan hadn't even needed to "help" him get grounded. It had been George's own stupidity that did him in. "Good for him. Can't say I'm sorry."

"Have to admit, though, that thing he did with the toilet paper was pretty funny. Shame ya didn't see it, Scarecrow. 'Course, the boys and I are going to behave ourselves this year. We want some candy, after all. And how about you? Are you going out, or does Crazy Keeny want you to stay in again?" Bo winked - he, and some others, had figured out why Jonathan didn't participate in trick-or-treating.

"I'm hoping to. If I do, I'm going to get plenty of candy. I've got a lot of missed Halloweens to make up for." Jonathan quietly moved even closer to the door leading out of the gym. The conversation was beginning to bore him, and he wanted a safe way out when he decided to go. "Besides, I can't let you and your idiot friends have all the fun, can I?"

Bo snarled, Crane grinning as he realized how much he was getting on his enemy's nerves. Sherry said nothing, instead letting Bo speak for her. "Whatever. Trouble is, we're going out pretty early tonight, so you'd better hurry so you can actually get something. I bet we'll have all the fun anyway."

Trying to hold his anger inside, Jonathan shot Bo a venomous look. "Don't be so sure, Bo Griggs. You know what they say about pride. Who knows? Maybe this year _I_ will get more candy than _you_. You have everything else, so it's only fair."

"Keep telling yourself that. I'll be gettin' ready as soon as we're done with practice for the big game."

Jonathan jumped down from the lowermost bleacher, glowering at Bo. "Well, I'll leave you and your gang of idiots to have fun at your stupid football practice. Tell your friend Jackie Grey that I'm not forgetting what he did to me, either." He turned around just before leaving the gym, knowing just what would hit Bo the hardest. "Oh, and one more thing. I hope the Grizzlies destroy you this season."

He sped out the door and down the hallway before he could see the look on Bo's face, which was probably just as well. His pace slowed just a little on his way to the front office. He felt very proud of himself, as he always liked scoring one over Bo, although he probably hadn't come any closer to gaining Sherry's attention.

His excitement soured when he realized that rooting for the Grizzlies in front of her probably hadn't been one of his better ideas. She was a Chickenhawk cheerleader, after all. Next time he would stick to insulting Bo and the other players, not the Chickenhawks as a group. Wishing that the Latham Grizzlies would win the big match, even though it was sincere, would make him a whole host of enemies, even outside the football team. He wasn't just a nerd now, but a traitor to Arlen High, and no one in Arlen liked a traitor.

Jonathan scowled on realizing his mistake. Knowing Bo, he would tell all of his friends about what the "scarecrow" had said. For all his intelligence, Jonathan had a way of making things worse for himself, especially in the past few weeks. Seeing a bowl of peppermints outside the office, he grabbed one, unwrapped it, and started to suck on it as he set off. It wasn't too late to fix things. His best chance was that the big game would draw the football players' attention away from him, allowing him to make a proper plan for getting Sherry's attention. The trick was not cluing in to Bo that Crane had designs on his social position and girlfriend. Sherry didn't say much when her boyfriend was with her, so Jonathan would have to approach her alone. Maybe their relationship wasn't as solid as they made it look.

If he could go trick-or-treating with them, that would be a good chance to get her attention at the least. That wasn't going to happen, unfortunately. After what had happened with _Ulysses_ and the chapel, he would be lucky if Gran even let him go outside with the other kids, let alone get him a costume. His boasting in front of Bo and Sherry had been just that: empty, meaningless boasting. It would be another year of sitting hunched and hungry at the window of the Keeny manor, listening to the groans of his own stomach and watching the others go around with flashlights and bags stuffed with candy. He was used to that, so it wouldn't be unbearable this year.

He could satisfy himself by planning to get revenge on Jackie. While Jonathan was furious and eagerly wanted the boy to suffer for burning his hands, he didn't know how he would do so. Still, the thought in and of itself comforted him. It was a way to express his anger, like chasing little birds. If there was one thing he was coming to hate more than the bullies, it was feeling powerless against them.

As for the birds, he wasn't sure why he found some pleasure in frightening them. Maybe it was the fact that they sat chirping and happily eating worms while he was miserable, or it was an act of small revenge against their larger, darker cousins perched in Gran's chapel. Either way, whenever he felt bored or unhappy, Crane would find a group of finches or sparrows, sneak up on them like a hungry cat, and with a yell startle them into flight. This was only a temporary catharsis, however. He wanted a more permanent way to both fix his problems and earn his peers' respect.

There had to be some way he could fight back. His luck would change. It was just a question of when and how.

Picking himself up and trying to hold himself high, Jonathan set off down the dirt path that led home, his satchel slung over one bony shoulder.

* * *

When night came to Arlen, Jonathan was called down from his room by Gran. He was confused as to why, because he had already eaten dinner and she usually spent her nights either in her rocking chair or outside, looking over the manor and the chapel. He was too frightened to disobey or question her, however, and came downstairs muttering under his breath. He hoped to God that he would not be sent to the chapel again, not so soon after the last time. The claw marks on his chest were still healing. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to deserve punishment, even by Gran's harsh standards.

Mouth dry, he slunk into the dining room to face her mercy. She was at the table, an arm laid beside a small statuette that held a marble bowl. While Gran's face was harsh and cold as usual, he saw a ragged lump of cloth and burlap beside her, crudely stitched together. A familiar black witch's hat sat on top of the pile. He would have taken a closer look, but he didn't want to make any mistakes.

"Go on, boy," she said, not even looking at him. "Weren't you pestering me about a Halloween costume all week? I spent the better part of yesterday sewing this wretched thing together for you and this is the thanks I get. Worthless child."

Jonathan's heart leapt, and he immediately rushed to the table and grabbed the folded costume. "Thank you, Gran!" he told her, completely sincere as he hugged it and gave a broad grin. "Thank you so much!" His mind swam with images of delicious candy, carved pumpkins, and traveling around the neighborhoods of Arlen with the other boys. Maybe he was wrong, and this autumn would turn out to be decent after all.

Then he actually saw what the costume Gran had made him was. He should have guessed, but he was so caught up in the moment that he didn't notice the hollow eye holes, the bunched pieces of straw, the rough light brown burlap designed to cover his head and face like a mask. As he realized the truth, he slipped it over his head as a test. It was, unsurprisingly, a perfect fit. Gran had made him a scarecrow costume for Halloween.

"I can't go out in this." He took off the mask, flinging it onto the table with disgust. "Sorry, Gran, I appreciate the work you put into it, I really do, but..." What could he say? If he went out in that costume, it would be making himself a walking bully magnet. No one, least of all Sherry, would take him seriously, even if it wasn't for the teasing. On the other hand, Gran had made it for him, and he didn't want to make her angry.

"You wanted a costume, boy, am I right?" Gran's watery eyes turned to Jonathan, who still held the rest of the scarecrow costume under one arm. "Be grateful for what you have, you ungrateful brat, because you won't be getting anything else. Either you take the costume I gave you or you stay indoors tonight."

Jonathan, already and increasingly suspicious-minded by nature, began to imagine that she already knew about the "scarecrow" nickname and the bullying. She had sewn a scarecrow costume to deliberately taunt him. He could stay indoors with her or go outside and be humiliated. She was probably hoping that he would choose the first option. However, he decided that he would rather endure the worst Bo and the other bullies had to offer than spend any more Halloweens trapped inside the Keeny manor.

"All right. I'll take it, then." Jonathan gave a slight bow, trying not to show off that he had won. "As I promised, I'll give you half of the candy I get. It's the least I can do for your generosity, Gran."

Gran didn't reply to Jonathan's offer and seemed very bored, looking away from him. "Be back before midnight. I'll know if you get up to any mischief, like giving neighbors heart attacks for your own amusement. Don't think I don't know your kind."

"Got it." Jonathan had every intention of keeping his word, mostly out of fear of the chapel. He went upstairs to change into his costume, slipping on his scarecrow mask last. It fit over his head fairly nicely - all that was clearly visible of Jonathan Crane was the scarecrow's blue eyes. The rest of the costume was itchy and rubbed against his exposed skin, and he had no doubt that there would be red marks in the morning from irritation. Gran was cruel even when she pretended to be generous. Still, Jonathan managed a slight if not completely genuine smile.

At least his belly wouldn't go empty this Halloween night. It could be worse.

Stumbling out the door and making his way to the bathroom, Jonathan found a mirror to give himself a closer look. The scarecrow wasn't exactly an elegant costume, was more cheap than actually frightening, and wouldn't win any awards, but it would have to do. Maybe, if he kept quiet, none of the other students would figure out that it was him.

That was wishful thinking. Bo and the Chickenhawks, unfortunately, were not stupid kids. They weren't as intellectual as Jonathan, but they were sneaky and knew just how to get under the other boy's skin. Jonathan could outwit them, if he was lucky, but that was all. They were athletic, strong children, easily able to out-fight and outrun him. He was sick of being hurt and ostracized, constantly on the outside looking in, envying Bo for his parents, his girlfriend, and, above all, his life.

Halloween was the beginning of his plan to change all that.

Jonathan Crane came down the steps in the costume, trying not to slip and adjusting to the limited vision provided by the mask. It took some getting used to, but he wore his glasses underneath the costume, and he felt confident that he could find his way. He grabbed a bag to serve as a container for the candy and a flashlight to help him avoid getting lost in the dark. He grabbed the hat from the table and put it on, lowering it to give an effect of hiding his eyes. It wasn't what he would have liked as a Halloween costume, but it would have to do.

With a quick, only partly sincere goodbye to Gran, he slipped outside and into the darkness. Jonathan had a fondness for autumn nights, since he always found them rejuvenating. There was total silence apart from the hoot of an owl somewhere in the garden. Ignoring it, Jonathan turned on the flashlight and set off toward the town. It was a short walk, as Arlen was only a small community, but he had to watch the ground for branches and rocks. It was difficult to see both because of the darkness and the costume. His flashlight saved him from stumbling into ditches or tripping over steps several times.

As he had suspected, he was far from the only boy out that night. Bo was with a pack of his friends beside the Dunstan house, dressed as a pirate, complete with a fake eye patch and a wooden cutlass. Sherry, with him as usual, came as a very convincing witch, wearing dark robes, a mask, and a hat that was even more ragged than the old Keeny scarecrow's. Her parents were well-off, so of course she could afford the best costumes. Jonathan's first plan was just to sneak past them, but Bo noticed him first and waved.

"Why, if it ain't Scarecrow Crane! What brings you out here tonight, Scaredy-crow? Nice costume you've got there." He smirked, nudging Jonathan in the ribs.

Jonathan looked up at him and straightened, hoping that his costume made him look even slightly intimidating. "Same thing as you, Bo. I'm out here to get some candy. See my bag?" He was becoming increasingly frustrated by how small he was, as even the youngest bullies were much stronger than him and he felt that Bo was asking for a good sock in the gut.

"I've gotta say, crazy as old Keeny is, she's got good taste with costumes! Couldn't have picked a better one myself!" Bo chuckled, quickly joined by Sherry and his friends. Jonathan was grateful for the mask, since he knew that he was blushing underneath.

"Well," Jonathan replied, trying to hold his temper back, "I'd like some candy to eat, too. I don't care about anything you say. All I want is to have some fun and snacks for myself."

"You'd better hurry, then, Scarecrow." Brad Simmons, barely recognizable in his brown werewolf costume, joined Bo and Sherry. Charlene, dressed as a green fairy with transparent wings, stood beside him with a thin smile. "We'll be hitting all the good houses, and there won't be much left for you after that."

Beneath the scarecrow mask, Jonathan snarled. "I'll see about that."

"Sure you will. You've only got to make up for missing... how many Halloweens was it again? Isn't this the first one Crazy Keeny actually let you out for?" Bo shook his head, faking sympathy. "Scarecrow Crane, you poor, poor thing. I'd feel sorry for ya if you weren't so _sad_."

Jonathan, barely resisting an urge to shine the flashlight directly in Bo's smug face, simply turned around and headed in the opposite direction. He could hear Sherry laughing from behind him. He was increasingly uncertain whether his interest in her was out of genuine love or simply a desire to mess with Bo. His current guess was that it was both, although Sherry had given him very little reason to like her as a person as opposed to a social crutch.

He chose to visit the Griggs home first, ironically. Although Bo's parents disliked Mary Keeny, as did every adult in Arlen, Mr. Griggs had warned his son several times to stay away from Jonathan and had never treated the boy badly. The adults were more inclined to ignore him. Trying to stay calm, Jonathan knocked on the Griggs' door twice, trying his best to look friendly. The knob rattled, and the broad-shouldered figure of Mr. Griggs emerged, his wife close by.

"Trick or treat!" Jonathan held up his bag with a shy smile.

They clearly didn't recognize him at first, since Mrs. Griggs welcomed Jonathan warmly. "Hello, there! If it isn't our second visitor of the night. And who are you? Don't be shy."

"Jonathan Crane," Jonathan replied, once again very grateful for the costume. "Your son knows me."

"Crazy Keeny's kid," Mr. Griggs said to his wife, voice hushed as if to keep Jonathan from hearing. "We should give him something. It's only right. Look how thin he is. I wouldn't be surprised if that hag doesn't feed him."

Jonathan, mildly annoyed, was about to tell them that he had heard everything they said about him when a small packet of candy corn was dropped into his bag. He nodded, thanking Mr. and Mrs. Griggs, and jumped off their porch. Even the neighborhood parents had rumors about him! At least Mr. Griggs wasn't as cruel as his son.

His next stops were a few houses belonging to local families that he didn't know, as he hoped to avoid being recognized. It didn't work. Wherever he went, his scarecrow costume did nothing to cover up who he really was. Everyone he met, child or parent, gave him that look with a strange mix of pity and disgust. Sometimes, when the kids thought that he wasn't listening, he could hear them mutter the "scarecrow" nickname behind his back.

He ruefully looked inside his bag of candy. Although he only had a little bit so far - a chocolate bar, a packet of jelly beans, some candy corn, and an apple from the town dentist - it was a reasonable haul, with all things considered, and Jonathan deeply looked forward to eating them. He felt his mouth water at the sight of all the treats, and he had to stop himself from sampling a bean. He wouldn't have been able to stop if he ate even one.

Sadly, Bo had a point, since he was exploring the richer part of town, where the adults had more candy to offer. When he caught up with the Chickenhawks, Jonathan tagged along behind Bo and his friends, careful not to show himself but stopping at all of the houses that they visited. Bo had cleared some, but there were plenty of small pickings left for Crane. He gleefully watched his bag fill up with treats. He disliked being pitied, but he could use it in his favor. All he had to do was pull the "miserable waif" look and those rich, soft bleeding-hearts would give him plenty of candy. Jonathan Crane was coming to like Halloween.

After visiting a few more houses, Jonathan finally caved in to temptation. Taking off his mask, he pulled out a strand of red licorice, and had just stuck it in his mouth when he saw Sherry coming. She was by herself. He realized how awkward he looked with the licorice dangling in the way it was. He quickly slurped it up, gave it a couple of hasty chews, and swallowed.

"Scarecrow, you are _so _disgusting," Sherry said, making a face. Jonathan hadn't expected her to see him. If he had, he would have put the licorice back in the bag, or at least kept the mask on.

"Sorry," he replied, a little sheepish. "Are you doing well, Miss Squires? I hope so."

"I'm fine." She waved a hand dismissively, avoiding his eyes. "Look, go do your weird thing somewhere else. Bo is at a house not too far from here, and I'm pretty sure you don't want to be here when he comes back."

She was right. Jonathan waved a quick goodbye, apologized again, and wheeled to leave with his bag of candy. "Thank you for the warning, Miss Squires," he said, hoping to sound polite. "I hope to see you again, and the best of luck with your trick-or-treating."

"Honestly, Scarecrow," he heard her say, "have you ever tried _not _being weird and creepy?" His heart sank, but he merely stood to his full height and pretended to ignore her.

Jonathan had already been to most of the houses in the neighborhoods he knew, and there were fewer treats for him once the other kids had been through. Talking to Sherry, meanwhile, was a complete disaster. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't made a good impression, and now she thought that he was weird and creepy. Weird and _creepy_! He wondered again why he even bothered to talk to her, and whether his plans were really worth it. At least going out hadn't been a complete waste of time. While he hadn't lived up to his bragging at school, he had a respectable amount of candy. It was nearly time to go home.

Tired from his long night, Jonathan found a place beside a wooden fence to sit down, removing his mask again. He edged behind the fence when he heard the other boys rejoining Sherry, showing off the candy that they had gotten. Judging from the rattling of their bags, it was a lot. Jealous, he looked in his own. He had about twenty-five pieces and the apple. It wasn't as much as Bo and his crowd had, but it was enough. He grinned wickedly; he wouldn't split it with Gran as he had suggested. There was barely enough for him. After all he had been through, he wanted something to make it all worthwhile. Bo and his gang wouldn't be the only ones to be happy this Halloween night.

Jonathan doubted that Gran would particularly care, given her reaction to his offer before. It was his candy, after all. He reached into his bag, taking out a small yellow jelly bean and eating it without hesitation. It tasted very good, and he quickly gobbled down a couple more.

Fifteen minutes later, nothing was left of the treats except for a bundle of wrappers. Jonathan Crane lounged beside the old wooden fence with an empty bag at his side and a sly, satisfied smile playing on his face. He didn't feel well, of course. He was struggling not to be sick, and he could almost hear Gran condemning him for his gluttony. He was a greedy boy, gorging himself on candy like that, and he would have a very bad stomachache. God's punishment for greedy, gluttonous boys.

At the moment, however, Jonathan didn't especially mind. He was more pleased with why he did it rather than what he had done. For the first time he had lied to Gran for a reason other than protecting himself. He should have felt guilty, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to. Besides, this was the first time in weeks that he had felt truly happy. Ever since the incident with _Ulysses_, he had slowly been becoming a little braver. Even last week he wouldn't have dared to confront Bo, let alone laugh at him, as he had at school.

_I _deserved _to eat the candy myself_, _after what she did to me_, he thought as he shakily got to his feet and set off on the long walk home. _She didn't deserve a single piece. It was _mine_. All _mine_._

It was a small, petty act of rebellion, but nevertheless it was a start.


	6. The Forbidden Library

_Rigid sleeps the house in darkness, I alone  
Like a thing unwarrantable cross the hall  
And climb the stairs to find the group of doors  
Standing angel-stern and tall._

_-_D. H. Lawrence_, Phantasmagoria_

It was some nights after Halloween when Jonathan, still giddy from victory, got the chance to act on the schemes for revenge that grew in his brain. It was a school night, and he was very tired, falling on his bed and slipping into a troubled sleep. There was a thunderstorm outside, a straggler from summer. Jonathan hated thunderstorms, especially since this one made it impossible for him to get badly needed rest. He tried every position he could think of - on his back, on his stomach, hunched up in a fetal position. His body ached. Grunting, he turned over on his side, forcing himself to sleep.

Tomorrow was a test day, he told himself, and he needed rest. No matter if it hurt him or not, he would get some sleep. He shut his eyes tight, holding them closed. Just as it was beginning to work, he heard a noise coming from the bathroom downstairs.

_Drip-drip-drip-drip_.

One eye flickered open, frustrated. Jonathan couldn't sleep with that _drip-drip-drip _in the background. His first thought was that Gran must have left the bathroom faucet running by accident, in which case he would have to go downstairs and turn it off himself. He would need to be fast and quiet to avoid being caught, as Gran didn't like it when he was awake and out of bed. Maybe he could just try to sleep through the faucet and stay out of trouble.

When Jonathan flung himself against the bed, the dripping seemed to intensify. Gritting his teeth, he tried and failed again to simply ignore it. He couldn't sleep through that, and he didn't know how Gran could, either. She would be asleep, and if he went down to the bathroom to turn the faucet off he would be doing everyone a favor. He sat up with a small sigh, rubbed the pain out of his weary eyes, and got to his feet. Turning the doorknob, he entered the hallway, little more than a shadow.

Jonathan both liked and didn't like exploring the Keeny manor at night. It was an adventure, for sure, and Jonathan Crane's wild imagination meant that he always enjoyed adventures and exploring. However, exploring would be a lot more fun without the threat of the chapel and the crows. The old house positively frightened him. It felt like the body of some enormous animal, its hallways a labyrinth of guts, and Jonathan himself some little creature that it had swallowed up. Even the thunderstorm dimly reminded him of a pounding heart.

Seeing a black-and-white photograph to his right, barely visible in the darkness of the hall, Jonathan took a closer look. It was the Keeny living room in better days. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and the stone cherub that he recognized from his own visits was in one piece and free of cobwebs.

There were four people posed for the photograph - a girl several years younger than himself stood beside a well-dressed husband and wife, both of them gently stern. A proud white cockatoo was perched on the man's arm while his wife was feeding it crackers. Jonathan realized that the man had to be his great-great grandfather, the one who built the aviary, considering his love of birds. He was young and handsome, wearing wire spectacles, the angles of his face vaguely similar to Jonathan's. His wife had a calm, amused look, her pale dress almost the same color as old Mr. Keeny's cockatoo. A little boy, who must have been a long-deceased brother, was crouched by his father's knee.

The girl was Mary Keeny, but there wasn't anything frightening about her in the photograph. She was smiling, something he had almost never seen her do as an adult. Jonathan was unable to reconcile the happy little girl in the picture with the bitter hag who he lived in fear of. Besides, Gran hated old Keeny. She thought that he was a coward for killing himself. In the photograph, she seemed to love him.

They couldn't be the same person. Jonathan couldn't imagine Gran loving anybody. She certainly didn't love her own great-grandson, or her parents. He left the photograph behind with a mild sense of discomfort, resolving never to look at it again. It confused him too much.

He continued to slowly pick his way along the hallway, jamming himself into the wall whenever he even _thought _he heard something. His thin body, even though people teased him for it, was a great help to him whenever he needed to hide. While Gran probably wouldn't be awake this late at night, he couldn't afford to be wrong. He stopped beside an enormous window, looking out at the storm. He could barely see through the pounding sheets of rain. No one was outside.

"All right," he said to himself with a deep breath, "I only need to make it to the bathroom, turn off the sink, and make it back to my room to sleep. That's it. I'll be fine." He swallowed hard, creeping downstairs and trying to make as little noise as possible. He couldn't help but make a little as his feet touched the steps, but no one came. He sighed in relief when he made it to the bottom without incident.

The bathroom was close to the stairs, and it was easy for Jonathan to find it and go inside. He turned on the light. To his surprise, the faucet wasn't running. The noise must have been coming from somewhere else. Jonathan reasoned that it was probably the rain dripping off the roof or something like that. There had been no need for him to come down at all. He almost laughed at the stupidity of what he had done.

He quietly shut the door, fully intending to forget the dripping and go back to his room, when he heard something moving in the kitchen. Part of him wanted to escape while he still could and get at least a little sleep, but Jonathan was always curious. The potential danger did nothing to turn him back this time. Gulping down his fear, he quietly slunk down the dining room to the kitchen, opened the wooden door and braced himself for what he might see.

What he did see almost made him shut the door immediately and retreat to his room in sheer terror. He breathed in sharply. Gran was wide awake, the kitchen was lit, and she was hard at work on..._something_. Jonathan couldn't tell exactly what she was doing, but he decided to find out, taking the risk of being caught. She was holding a small container, something like a salt shaker, but what came out wasn't salt. It looked like some sort of herb. As he watched, it fell into a pot that lay on the cabinet.

Jonathan was about to dismiss it as Gran probably cooking breakfast and turn away when she pulled out something else that stopped his breath. It was a very large and very dead gray rat. For an instant he was confused - as eccentric as Gran was, what use would she possibly have for dead rats? He knew that they were pests and had seen the poison scattered around the manor for them, but collecting the corpses was beyond morbid and disgusting. He felt like he wanted to rush to the bathroom and throw up.

In the silver flash of a knife a river of red flowed into the pot. The rat was still dripping when Jonathan was finally able to look back at the disemboweled corpse. He could feel his supper, sour and partly digested, rising up from his stomach and sitting in his throat. He couldn't see anything but the blood. He watched in mixed awe and terror as Gran squeezed the creature over what he realized was a very familiar Sunday suit. The suit turned red from the rat's juices. Gran then applied some of the mixture from the pot to it, smearing it brown.

Jonathan, while frightened and disgusted, the most terrified he ever remembered being in his life, couldn't tear his eyes away. His instincts told him that what he was about to see would be very important. She had to be tainting his Sunday suit for a reason, and if he wasn't so frightened he might be able to figure out what it was. Seemingly satisfied, she kept the dead rat and left the bloody suit on a wooden prop. Confident that she couldn't see him, Jonathan cautiously held the door open and watched her fetch her umbrella.

She wasn't going out in the storm, was she? She would have to be insane. Jonathan wouldn't have done it, but he was frightened of thunderstorms. Gran mustn't have been. When she shut the door behind her, Jonathan darted into the room and ran to the window to get a look at what she was doing.

Why was she still carrying that filthy rat corpse, for one thing? He didn't know how long it had been dead for, and it might have been poisoned or diseased. He still couldn't get the image of Mary Keeny gutting the rat out of his head. Even when he shut his eyes he saw the blood draining into Gran's pot. He definitely wouldn't sleep tonight. Not unless he wanted horrific nightmares.

A crack of thunder made him jump, and he pressed his face to the glass, struggling to see through the pouring rain. Gran, amazingly, was outside in her black dress, carrying the parasol and the soggy body of the rat. She didn't seem the least bit afraid of the storm. Jonathan, spellbound, watched her approach the corn, holding the corpse by the tail. He hoped that she wouldn't turn and see him. While he didn't know what possessed him to stand there, waiting to be caught, something kept him from leaving while he had the chance and scurrying to his room. He felt a sense of foreboding that prickled at the hairs of his neck.

Gran strode up the stone path, confident, scarcely noticing the rain, holding the mangled rat in a way that was both darkly comic and unsettling. Jonathan watched as she entered the cornfield, her eyes not even twitching at another burst of thunder that rattled the walls of the manor and almost made Jonathan, transfixed as he was, run for cover.

There, its frayed clothes soaked by the storm, was the Keeny scarecrow, a barely distinguishable mass of burlap and cloth. Gran approached it, eyed it for a while, and placed the dead rat on its shoulder. She silently turned and left the grotesque thing where it had been laid. But why had she done it? Jonathan squinted, watching the scarecrow through the window. There had to be a reason. He was beginning to make a few tentative guesses as he remembered what she had done to his suit.

With a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, Jonathan got his answer. A flock of crows, probably the same ones that made their nests in the chapel, plunged out of the sky. It became a seemingly endless stream of dark feathers and thrashing wings. There were more of them than Jonathan had ever seen, probably all of the crows in Arlen, all descending on the ragged scarecrow with their beaks and talons ready. They set on it, slashing and tearing at the rat on its shoulder, greedily devouring the meat. Still more of them went for the scarecrow itself, pecking at it as if it was food, too. In their recklessness, some of them even turned on each other. A couple of the smaller crows fell from the murder, badly injured or worse. Their vicious behavior wasn't unlike what they did to Jonathan in the chapel...

_The chapel!_

Something sparked in Jonathan's brain as he made the connection. The rats' blood, the herbs, they must have turned the crows crazy. The mixture, when applied to the scarecrow, made them think of and treat it like prey. When applied to his Sunday suit, the crows would behave as if Jonathan was something that they could kill and eat, at least until the feeding frenzy wore off and they realized that he wasn't their normal food. He would have stayed to watch the horrendous, gripping sight, but remembered that Gran would be coming back. She wouldn't be pleased to see that Jonathan had learned her secret.

He scrambled back upstairs, his brain simmering with what he had seen and learned. Part of him was disgusted, but a bigger part was darkly fascinated. Before this, he had believed Gran when she had said that the crows attacked him to punish his bad behavior. Now he knew better. He didn't know the precise mechanics of how she did it, but the chemical she made with the rat blood turned the crows vicious. There wasn't anything divine in what Gran did. As the picture in the hallway had shown him, she was only human. Why, if Jonathan knew the recipe that she used, he could do the exact same thing himself!

A small, malicious smile came to his face as that sank in. Gran was preparing a punishment for him. Instead she had provided him with the weapon he needed for his revenge. Going after Bo was tempting, but he decided to target Jackie Grey first as an experiment. He still had the burn marks on his flesh from what Jackie had done to him, and as far as Jonathan was concerned payback was long overdue.

Gran had controlled and dominated him through fear ever since Jonathan was a little boy. Now that he was growing up, Jonathan could play the same game and use the same tools to get the bullies to leave him alone. If he could make an example of Jackie, the bullies would be afraid of him.

Even better, now that he knew Gran's secret, his fear of the chapel disappeared. All he would have to do to stop the crows from attacking was remove his suit. He could venture into the forbidden room when Gran was out and take back _Ulysses _without any fear. His smile turning into a frown, he decided that getting the book back would be the first test of his new freedom. Of course, he wouldn't let her see any signs that he was in on her little trick. Not yet.

While Gran finally settled in, Jonathan Crane, a new, fierce determination in his face, stood beside his room's window, unaffected by the storm and for once fearless.

* * *

Two days after his discovery, Jonathan first made his move. He still acted meek and frightened in front of Gran, if only to keep her from suspecting him. If she had any idea of what he was planning to do, she would take precautions, perhaps hiding away the recipe where he couldn't get at it or locking the door to the forbidden room. She couldn't do that until he had memorized or copied her formula for controlling the crows. Once that was done, it didn't matter what she did next.

Every afternoon, she would go to the bedroom or her rocking chair and have a nap. There was a schedule to it that Jonathan had put to memory. From five to seven o' clock every day, while Mary Keeny slept, Jonathan Crane would be lord and master of the Keeny manor. He used this chance for a variety of things. As a very small boy, he spent most of his time dusting off Marion's old books. His personal favorite was a book of Mother Goose nursery rhymes, many of which he knew by heart long after he had outgrown them. As a teenager he spent more time exploring the safe areas of the manor, creeping and sneaking along hallways to examine pictures and snatch old record books. At fourteen he knew almost as much about the history of the Keeny family as Gran herself.

There were a few rooms which Jonathan hadn't dared to visit yet. Gran's room, while he was curious about it and peeped inside every once in a while, was too close to her for comfort. He knew she kept a diary by her bedside, unprotected, and he would have liked to steal it briefly to see if there was any information that could be useful to him. If he was braver, he could slink inside, take the book, read it, and put it back before she even knew it was missing. He wanted to know the truth about what had happened when he was born and why his mother abandoned him to Gran's care.

Unlike Gran, who had a reputation for meanness, the people of Arlen saw Karen Keeny as more careless than cruel. All the same, the Keeny taint, combined with her reputation, would give her trouble in finding a husband. Apparently Jonathan's mother was a drug addict and drinker. Gran didn't seem very concerned about what happened to Karen, since she saw both of the Keeny women as disgraces to the family name. Jonathan had never heard her say a single kind thing about Karen. He could understand why his mother lived in Latham with Grandma Marion. It was probably just as well for her that she was out of reach, even if only half of the rumors around her were true.

After finishing his dinner, Jonathan waited at the table and watched Gran hobble to the rocking chair where she spent most of her afternoons. He had to force himself not to give a knowing grin. This afternoon, he had his own plans, but he couldn't start until she was fast asleep. He obediently sat beside his empty plate, hands on his lap, waiting for her to tell him what to do.

"Go to your room, boy," Gran said, very briefly looking back. "Remember to stay there. You know the punishment if you don't."

Jonathan bowed his head, faking obedience. He urged himself not to smile. "Yes, Gran. I will." She was fooled. With a sigh, she slouched in the chair, leaving Jonathan the only person in the house who was still awake. After giving her some time, letting her sink into a deep enough sleep that she wouldn't wake up, he stood and stretched his cramped limbs. He would need to be fast and quiet if he wanted to enter the forbidden room without waking Gran. His first visit would have to be a short one. He could always come back later if he wanted or needed anything else.

Even if he knew how he could avoid an attack from the crows, he still wanted to stay out of the chapel. It was cold and damp, meaning that he could get sick, and he preferred a warm bed to sleeping on the stone floor. That wasn't even taking the shards of broken glass into account. Still, knowing how she trained the crows to attack him gave a slight advantage, provided that he could take off the Sunday suit in time. The only problem was that she might be suspicious if he came out unhurt. Until he figured out his next move, Jonathan would be on his best behavior.

When he heard Gran snoring, Jonathan crept out of the kitchen, moving as quickly as he could and keeping to the walls. There were a handful of close calls. At one point he accidentally knocked a dusty vase off of a shelf, only just managing to catch it in time. His heart was throbbing behind his ribcage. He was half-sure that, any moment, his footsteps would be too loud and Gran would wake up, catching him.

When he made it to the steps, his tense muscles relaxed a little, although he never dared to let down his guard. His eyes were wide and frightened, slowly growing used to the darkness. He considered and decided against getting the flashlight. It would be too incriminating if Gran found him, and he could find his way without it. It was his house. He passed an empty guest room and stopped just outside Gran's bedroom, deciding to poke his head in to see what she had.

Mary Keeny was not particularly good at keeping house. Jonathan could barely see anything, even when he turned the lamp on. Books were scattered on the floor, all of her heirlooms were dusty, and there were spider webs strewn in the room's corners. Jonathan came in, trying not to step on anything. Seeing a small colored photograph on a table, he picked it up, breathing on it to clear the dust away.

It was of Gran and a slightly younger Jonathan in his Sunday suit, both standing in the garden. She was smiling, although there was no kindness in her face, and an expressionless Jonathan was hunched beside her, head low and eyes avoiding the camera. She had her hands on one of his shoulders. He thought back to the old picture in the hallway of Mary Keeny as a little girl, playing with her parents and brother. It was hard to imagine that they were the same person. Even he could barely accept it.

"What happened to you?" he asked the woman in the photograph, although he was looking at the skinny little boy. Jonathan would need both photographs to compare them properly, but he realized that he looked a lot like Gran's dead brother. The only significant difference was in their hair and eyes - the dead Keeny boy's hair was either dark brown or black, and Jonathan's hair was a bright orange-red. His eyes were blue, like Gran's, while the other boy's had a darker color. He knew that he had been named after one of Gran's own children, Jonathan Keeny, who had failed to survive past infancy.

Unsettled, his sharp eyes turned to Gran's diary, kept beside the picture. It was out in the open, practically inviting him to take it. He had to suppress an impulse to do so. He could do it later, but he had to get _Ulysses _back while he had the chance. The book was already overdue. After that, he had a score to settle with Jackie Grey and the Chickenhawks. Then, and only then, would he steal the diary. He put back the photograph, hoping that Gran wouldn't realize how it had been cleaned. Forcing himself to back out of the room and shutting the door as softly as he could, Jonathan continued his journey.

The manor never failed to make him feel small and helpless, even though he had felt so brave before. It didn't help that what he was doing was every bit as dangerous as the previous night's exploration, if not even more so. He was about to deliberately disobey the most important rule in the Keeny household. While he wanted to retrieve his library book, Jonathan was also sure that Gran was hiding something from him. She was warning him away from that particular room for a reason. Something was in there that he wasn't meant to see. Thanks to what he had seen before, he had a good idea of what.

Now that his fear of God and Gran's wrath was gone, there was nothing to stop Jonathan Crane from learning Gran's trick. He would figure out everything he could - in particular, how she trained the crows to attack people. He had it in mind to give Jackie Grey a fright that he would never forget. If Jackie was injured as a result of Crane's plan, well, that was what the other boy deserved for being a bully. Even better, if the birds did what they were supposed to, there would be nothing to incriminate Jonathan.

If his experiment was successful, he could play the same trick on his other bullies until they left him alone out of fear. If the birds only attacked people who harassed Jonathan Crane, they would eventually get the hint.

_Ulysses_, however, had to come first. He had more than enough time to plan his revenge. If he could learn Gran's formula, that would be a bonus. All he had to do was copy it down, learn it by heart, and hide the paper. Gran would never know. Jonathan was very thankful for his good memory.

Jonathan knew which door led to the forbidden room, although he had never dared to open it. It was behind a ragged old wooden thing on the second floor, parts of it chipped off. He tested the door first to check if it was protected or rigged in any way. To his surprise, it was unlocked. Gran must have been counting on his fear of the chapel to keep him away. It couldn't be that easy. There had to be a trap. He expected her to have some way of marking that the door had been opened, but nothing happened.

Still cautious, Jonathan listened for the sound of footsteps. Nobody came. He gulped down his fear and turned the knob, his skinny body framed against the open doorway, terror and excitement pulsing through his veins. He took a step, still waiting for something terrible to happen, for Gran to wake up and, screaming, haul the disobedient brat to the chapel. His frown turned to a sly smile when he realized that nothing would happen. Without his fear of the chapel, her power over him was broken.

The room was dark and there was no light switch, so it took a while for his eyes to grow used to the darkness. Once he could see, his little smirk turned into a grin. The forbidden room was stuffed full of books, real books, not Gran's musty old things. There were several shelves, covered in cobwebs and dust, waiting for Jonathan to take the books out and restore them. He almost gave a cry of joy, only just remembering what would happen if he was caught.

His tongue held, Jonathan crept along the shelves, delighted by what he saw. Encyclopedias, novels, books of poetry, short story collections, all his to take whenever he wanted. He saw _Ulysses _at the end of one shelf, neater than the rest. Apparently Gran didn't know the contents of her own collection. She had fallen for Jonathan's lie, mistaking the borrowed book for part of the family library. He didn't see Gran as a heavy reader. The books must have belonged to his Keeny ancestors, maybe even old Mr. Keeny himself.

He felt a confusing mix of emotions. Besides delight and self-satisfaction at his discovery, he was furious with Gran for hiding such a treat from him. Passing the novels, he saw a ladder that extended up to another level of books. Jonathan decided that, since Gran barely visited the Keeny library herself, she wouldn't notice if he "borrowed" two or three books for his own pleasure.

Wriggling up the ladder, Jonathan scanned each shelf, still smiling. He would be back, all right. Every afternoon, while Gran slept, he planned to snatch books from the Keeny library, only replacing them when he was finished and keeping the ones he liked the best. Scanning the shelf at head level, he noticed that they all had to do with the sciences, probably old manuals and textbooks. Geology, paleontology, biology, chemistry...

The last one in particular caught his eye_. _The title read _Advanced Chemistry _in black lettering. Unlike the others, _Advanced Chemistry _was clean, taken out and read relatively recently. This was the one Jonathan needed. He reached out, careful not to slip, and took it from the shelf. Once back on the ground, he opened a sample page. It was full of complex diagrams and long words, far beyond anything in Jonathan's Arlen High textbook. Figuring out Gran's recipe would mean that Jonathan would have to put his knowledge of chemistry to the test.

He knew a few of the ingredients, and if Gran could find the others so could he. Besides, he could pick up guidebooks to identify herbs or the chemicals for the recipe on return visits. His first order of business was copying down and learning the formula for controlling birds. After that, he could make improvements of his own. If crows could terrorize a little boy and tear his back bloody, imagine what eagles or falcons could do! He could change the birds of Arlen from his most feared enemies to his personal army.

On his way out, with the book clasped under one arm, he remembered _Ulysses_. He quickly swiped it from the shelf where it lay, planning to return it first thing in the morning. After all, he had no need for the Arlen Public Library anymore. What he had right under his nose was much better. With _Advanced Chemistry_'s help, he could have everything he wanted: power over Bo Griggs and the Chickenhawks, happiness, respect from the other kids, and, most importantly, revenge. If he was careful, he could even take Sherry from Bo, both to get her acceptance and to spit in his rival's face.

He couldn't fight the bullies with his fists, as he was too thin and fragile for that. Instead, he could use his brain. Bo had his muscles and his friends, but Crane had intelligence on his side.

However, Bo wouldn't come first. Jonathan still had another first victim in mind. He looked at the burn marks between his fingers to remind himself of who and why. Giving a short, unpleasant laugh, he shut the door behind him before he slipped into his room, still carrying _Advanced Chemistry_. For once, he actually looked forward to seeing the bullies in the morning.

It would be only poetic justice for Jackson Grey - Chickenhawk team captain, hero of Arlen High School, and arrogant, obnoxious bully - to receive the first taste of Jonathan Crane's newfound power.


	7. First Blood

_ Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,  
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,  
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy,  
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?_

_- _Robert Browning_, The Laboratory_

As soon as he had taken _Advanced Chemistry_ to his room, Jonathan wasted no time on putting his plans in action. Smug and pleased with himself, he settled down in his chair, tore out a page from his notebook, and began copying out the formula. The complicated names of plants and chemicals were no problem for him. After that was finished, he briefly went back to the forbidden room to replace the book, putting it back exactly where he had found it. Gran would never know a thing. The next step was gathering the necessary materials to create the mixture. This was slightly more difficult.

By then he had some idea of what it was and how it worked, both from what he read and what he had seen in the garden with the scarecrow. It was typical Gran - clever, sadistic, and a way to control Jonathan while doing little work herself. The scent created by Gran's recipe must have reminded the crows of food, attracting all of them in the area to the source to attack. Whether the scent came from a fleshless scarecrow or a screaming child didn't matter. All that the birds thought of was food, at least until the chemical wore off and they came to their senses again.

Everything made sense now: why Gran always had Jonathan wear the same suit, why she told him to stay out of the Keeny library, and why the birds treated him like prey. In their maddened brains, he was little more than a decaying rat corpse to be pecked apart and reduced to bone. It also explained why the same crows which attacked him in the chapel ignored him when he wasn't wearing Gran's suit. By now he had an instinctive fear of birds - not all birds, of course, but if they were in large numbers or big enough to hurt him. He would have to fix that. Of course, it wouldn't matter if he got out of the way in time.

If Jonathan wasn't so absorbed in his work, he would have been furious. As things stood, memorizing Gran's formula was enough work for him. He didn't think it was beyond him, of course. It was a test of his intelligence. If she could do it, so could he. He had the highest chemistry scores in his grade, if not the entire school. Besides, he had a personal score to settle with Jackie Grey, and revenge gave him a powerful motivator.

Fortunately for him, it wasn't as complicated as it looked, and he felt confident that, given a week or two, he could learn how it worked and mix a batch for himself. Most of the ingredients, as it turned out, were local herbs. Jonathan spent plenty of time in the garden anyway. Armed with an identification manual that once belonged to old Mr. Keeny, he searched the land around the manor for the plants he needed, pulling them up intact if he could. Jonathan felt like a medieval warlock hard at work on some poisonous brew. He reminded himself that what he was doing wasn't magic, but science.

Several of the herbs were common enough, but some reeked enough to make Jonathan gag. He stashed them in an old closet, wrapped up by plastic to cover up the bad smell. For once he was grateful for Gran's steamed broccoli, as rubbery as it tasted, and as soon as he finished it off he returned to his room and to studying the recipe. The next afternoon, during Gran's napping hours, Jonathan used her own kitchen materials to ground the herbs to a paste, adding salt as he had seen her do. He thought with some pessimism that he probably made a few mistakes. After all, he had been too frightened at the time to watch Gran as well as he should have.

Curious, he sniffed the ground-up herbs and almost fell to his knees gagging. He stood up, trying not to be sick. He would have to get used to it. With some effort, he poured the stuff into a bag and sealed it, hiding the smell. The job done, he gave himself a proud smile. Jonathan Crane was no coward, not anymore.

Unfortunately, there was still the rat.

If the herbs were bad, the rat's blood was worse. Finding one wasn't the problem. The Keeny manor had no shortage of rats. They were ugly gray creatures which both Gran and Jonathan hated for stealing needed food, multiplying in the old house's darkest corners. While Gran used poison to kill them, she was too proud to hire an exterminator to permanently deal with the infestation. Jonathan also now knew that she had her own reasons for letting the things breed in the manor. Without the Keeny rat population, she wouldn't have a key ingredient for setting the crows on her great-grandson.

Jonathan found himself crawling on his hands and knees like a lizard, checking traps and poisoned baits for corpses to gather. He didn't want to hunt live ones. While rats were pests and he had no problems with killing one, he didn't want to be hurt in a fight with a struggling, frightened rat. They probably spread disease. He was wearing borrowed gloves, but it was better to be careful. The manor's rats were large and vicious when cornered, their claws and teeth able to draw blood.

Beside a partly eaten piece of rat poison, Crane found what he was looking for. It wasn't as large as the one he saw Gran with, but it would be enough. Jonathan would have to make the paste quickly. Otherwise, the corpse would start to stink and let Gran know what he was up to. In the future he would work when she was in town and he had more time to experiment. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer, trying not to throw up as he carried the dead rat upstairs. He didn't know how Gran could manage it - just holding it by the tail made him shiver.

Once in his room, he found a bucket in the hallway and brought it in. First came the herbs, the stink almost driving Jonathan from the room again. His own cowardice was beginning to frustrate him. If he was going to fight the bullies, he had to grow a spine. He managed to withstand it, even though his insides lurched, drawing the stolen knife while holding the dead rat by the tail. He didn't want to look, but he had no choice. If he missed, he could cut off a finger by mistake, and even if he could stop the bleeding he could only imagine trying to explain that to Gran!

With one smooth movement, the bucket partly filled with red, mixing among the green herbs. The metallic scent of the blood made the stuff stink even more. Jonathan wanted to run to the bathroom and throw up, but he knew that he would be caught if he did. Struggling to hold the contents of his stomach down, he took the mixture down to the kitchen and emptied it into a pot, his quick fingers working the controls for the stove before he watched the blood and herbs turn brown. Satisfied, he dumped the pot's contents into a plastic bag. He didn't want to be attacked himself, and it still smelled terrible. What was left after his plan would have to be destroyed, or Gran would smell it, too. Her senses weren't as sharp as his, but she could piece things together.

After he finished, he went to the bathroom, grabbed some soap, and washed his hands until they were raw. He was sure that the Keeny rats carried some sort of disease, and the last thing he needed was to get sick. He breathed in to get the stink out of his lungs and throat. The air in the manor wasn't as fresh as the air outside, but anything was better than the stuff in the bucket. Something was wrong with his creation.

Maybe there was something missing from his cruder copy of Gran's mixture, something that hid the odor. Gran had some way to keep his suit from stinking. Otherwise he would have figured things out years ago. He wasn't surprised that he had made a mistake, since it was his first attempt, but as long as he was careful Jackie would never know just what was wrong.

The main problem was getting Crane's own supply of the mixture on Jackie without Jackie realizing who was responsible. At first he considered secretly dousing the bully's things with the stuff, but abandoned that idea. Jackie, like Bo, wasn't stupid, and would probably notice if his clothes or school supplies suddenly started smelling like ground-up plants and dried blood. Crane would have to be cleverer than that. He decided that, if he refined Gran's recipe, he would fix the smell first if he could. That was something for future experiments.

However, Jonathan did know an important part of Jackie's schedule. Every Thursday, the team captain and leader of the Arlen High Chickenhawks would ambush Jonathan on the way to school, demanding lunch money. Of course, this meant that Jonathan would have to go through the entire school day hungry. Snatching Jonathan's money was one of Jackie's most frustrating habits because of this. While Crane didn't like school lunches very much, as he found them tasteless, they were better than nothing. He didn't care what he ate, or how often, as long as it filled out his belly. Years of Gran's vegetable dinners had given him a strong stomach. He usually didn't savor his meals, either, his only pleasure the feeling of fullness in his thin body afterward.

While he was used to small meals, Jonathan was fed up with Jackie robbing him of his lunch. Too many Thursdays had been spent isolated at a lunch table, watching Jackie eat food that should have been Crane's.

This time, Jackie would get exactly what he deserved. Jonathan's trap was simple but efficient. He was willing to sacrifice his lunch for the sake of his plan. If he was able to stop Jackie and the others from taking his money, he would never have to deal with that issue again.

When Gran gave him his dollar bill in the morning, Jonathan went to his room and smeared a small amount of the mixture over it. He slipped it into a plastic bag, both to cover up the smell and to prevent the birds from attacking him instead. When Jackie had the tainted money on him, he would make sure he was well out of the way until the birds came. He wasn't sure if the mixture only worked on crows, but any species would work if there were enough of them. Oh, Jackie Grey would get the shock of his life. An evil little smile came to Jonathan's face at the thought. Deliberate malice was new to him, but Jackie _deserved_ it after burning Crane's hands, and Jonathan wanted to teach the boys of Arlen High that he was dangerous, not someone to terrorize or bully.

It was extremely important that Jackie not suspect that Jonathan Crane had done anything unusual to the money. He would have to avoid acting knowing or suspicious around the other boy. If Jackie thought that Jonathan gave up the money too easily, he might catch on. Crane had a reputation as a coward, less because he really was a coward and more because he didn't want to get hit.

Forcing a straight face, he came out of the Keeny manor and walked down the path, his money in one hand and his satchel slung over his back. He was sure that, knowing Jackie, the older boy would come sooner or later. This time things would be different. Jonathan would use Jackie's own greed against him. Whistling softly, in part to attract Jackie's attention, he approached a large tree. Sure enough, a lanky shadow emerged from behind it.

"Well, well. Lookie what we've got here."

Jonathan sighed, faking boredom, his heart rate starting to quicken. "Look, Jackie, leave me alone today. I'm not feeling well. I don't want trouble. Just let me through. Bother me some other time."

Jackie Grey leaned against the bark, grinning, his own satchel beside him. No other Chickenhawks were with him. He was alone with Crane. That didn't even the odds in Jonathan's favor - Jackie was more well-coordinated than Crane, much bigger, and was not in the least bit afraid to fight dirty. Neither was Jonathan, for that matter. He could claw and bite if he had to, but he was physically weak enough that he could be overpowered easily. If it was possible, Crane wanted to avoid a fight. Exposing the money to open air would cause the birds to come.

"Aww. Now, Scaredy-crow, you know the rules. Gimme the cash and ya don't get hurt."

"But I'm _starving_," Jonathan said, trying his best to sound convincing. "I didn't have anything to eat this morning. My stomach hurts. Try to understand, Jackie..."

"Too bad for you." Jackie sprang down from the hill, facing Jonathan directly. "Look, Jonny, I'll let ya go as soon as I've got the money. If I don't have it in five seconds, your stomach won't be the only thing that's hurting." He opened a hand, showing his palm. "C'mon. Cash. _Now_."

Jonathan looked at the money in its plastic bag, put on a weary face, and offered it to Jackie. "All right. Here it is. Now let me go as you said."

Jackie accepted it, his smirk doing nothing to hide his confusion. "Why's it all wrapped up? Ya sick or somethin'? I don't want your germs on me." He looked like he was briefly considering handing it back for a moment, but Jonathan was already running down the road. "Never mind. Thanks for the free lunch, Scarecrow!"

"You're welcome," Crane said as he ducked behind a tree, hoping that Jackie wouldn't see his sneaky grin. "Oh, you're very welcome, Mister Grey." He chuckled softly to himself as he watched Jackie take out the tainted dollar bill. The larger boy winced, probably from the smell, but just laughed it off. Hidden from view, Jonathan Crane crouched, patient. This was the moment where he would see if his scheme succeeded or failed. _Any second now..._

Chirping, a brown finch flew by, and Jonathan looked up. Jackie seemed to ignore it. When a small group of them perched on the tree, the bully seemed visibly nervous, getting up to go as more and more of them settled there, beady eyes fixed on him. He never got the chance.

A screeching mob of little birds descended on him, screeching like they were possessed, smothering Jackie in a mass of soft feathers and jabbing beaks. Jonathan almost rushed out and gave a victory whoop. His plan had worked. He could barely see the boy struggling under the flock of birds, but he could hear Jackie's agonized screams, mingled with the finches' calls. Smiling, he watched the finches until the chemical wore off and they flew away, leaving Jackie on the dirt, lying face-down and motionless.

Crane, sauntering out from his hiding spot, gave a sarcastic nod to Jackie and disappeared down the road.

* * *

Jackie Grey, as it turned out, didn't die. Jonathan overheard Charlene Connors and one of her friends on the cheer squad talking about it a couple of weeks later. However, damage had been done. Without their team captain, the Chickenhawks were hopelessly disorganized by the day of the big game against the Latham Grizzlies, who were better prepared and better trained. When the Arlen home team was utterly destroyed by seven-to-none, no one was particularly surprised. The atmosphere in the school turned grim as the Chickenhawks brooded over their loss and their captain's accident.

"If Jackie hadn't gotten hurt," Charlene said, "we would've won. It wasn't a fair match." She leaned against what must have been her locker, chewing gum. Brad wasn't with her. Clearly they were on bad terms at the moment, probably because of general feelings about the football game.

"What happened to him, anyway?" Jonathan recognized Charlene's friend as Mary Ewing, a girl in his homeroom. She was clearly flustered. "Bo went to see him in the hospital, and Jackie said a bunch of birds attacked him. Like something out of a horror movie."

Charlene didn't seem very impressed. "That's stupid. Birds don't do that."

Mary shook her red hair. "He's pretty banged up. Lost an eye. _Something_ did that to him, Charlene. He doesn't think it was an accident, and Bo says Jackie knows who did it. Someone wanted to ruin our big game."

"We'll ask him when he comes back to class," Charlene replied. "Maybe it was one of the Grizzlies. A joke gone bad. I'm sure whoever did it didn't mean for him to get an eye pecked out."

Mary winced, turning around. "Don't be gross. See you at lunch, Charlene. Tell me who Jackie thinks did it."

Jonathan hid in the hallway. Surely Jackie hadn't figured out that the money was tampered with? It was more likely that the Latham kids would get the blame, since they had a long-standing and bitter rivalry with Arlen High. He also hadn't expected Jackie to return to school so quickly. While he had been forced to destroy his original supply of Gran's mixture, his plan to make more was delayed. He had managed some tinkering with the recipe, but he spent much of his free time reading books stolen from Mr. Keeny's library.

He shared his next class with Jackie, which was both terrifying and a good chance to figure out if the team captain's guess was right. Either way, Jonathan wouldn't be wasting time loitering outside school. Jackie sounded angry. He crawled into fourth period, sitting down a couple rows in front of Grey. He turned around and saw a very different Jackson Grey from the one who the finches had attacked two weeks ago. One of his eyes was gone, replaced by a black patch, and his remaining eye fixed directly on Jonathan. Crane had never seen anybody, even Gran, look at him with such pure hatred.

Jackie knew, all right.

Jonathan, trying to stay calm, turned around to focus on school. During group discussions, however, he learned that as a result of his injury Jackie's parents forced him to retire from the football team. His replacement would be none other than Bo Griggs, a popular choice judging from the cheers Crane heard. Bo didn't look nearly as happy about this as Jonathan had expected, accepting the position but shaking Jackie's hand.

"I'm sorry," he told the former team captain. "It's not your fault we lost the game. Latham's a tough team to beat, and the boys did their best."

Jackie glowered at Jonathan, who quivered in his chair. "Don't worry, Bo. You're not the one who should be sorry." Jonathan heard himself swallow loudly. Fortunately, he was far enough away that Jackie and Bo didn't hear.

Jonathan wasn't sorry for what he did. The Chickenhawks deserved that loss. His plan had not only injured the team captain but permanently disrupted the Chickenhawks' team structure. However, Jackie knew who was responsible for the loss of his eye and Arlen High's defeat in the football match. Since the former team captain was also out for revenge, Crane would be leaving for home as soon as the bell rang.

He was out the door, his walk turning into a sprint as he heard someone yelling after him. Jackie's voice. His pace quickened even faster, his lungs blazing as he ran, his chest almost ready to explode. Although he was reduced to panting like a dog, he couldn't stop. Jackie sounded ready to kill him. If there were any low enough branches, he could climb up a tree to get away. He didn't want to imagine what would happen if he got caught.

Turning around, he saw Jackie still on his trail, the look in his one eye venomous. This was a mistake. Jonathan's foot caught on a root and he stumbled, the air knocked out of him. Dazed, he tried to stand up, but Jackie was on him before he could escape.

"Just you and me now, Scarecrow." Jackie roughly pulled Jonathan to his feet. Jonathan struggled, trying to wriggle free, but Jackie wrenched his arms behind his back with a painful twist. Jonathan cried out.

"P-please, Jackie, let me go! You're hurting me!"

"Oh, boo-hoo. Don't play the innocent act on me, Crane. You know what you did as well as I do."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Jonathan yelped when Jackie stamped on his foot.

"You aren't fooling me, Crane. You wanted us to lose. That's why those stupid birds did _this_ to me!" Jackie, his voice rising to a scream, showed Jonathan his eye patch. "You slimy little piece of trash! It was the game, wasn't it? You were trying to sabotage the game and help the Grizzlies. How much did they offer you?"

"What?" Jonathan shook his head. "You think this was over some stupid football game? Look what you did to me. It was fate punishing you for beating me up and stealing my money. I don't care about the Grizzlies."

Jackie gave a single harsh laugh. "Fate, my butt! 'I hope the Grizzlies destroy you this season'. Sound familiar, eh, Scarecrow?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I can't say it breaks my heart that you lost. But you're wrong if you think this is over the game. I don't even care about football."

"You're a bad liar, Jonny-boy." Jackie shoved Crane to the ground, pulling his short hair hard. Jonathan, nose bleeding, cried out. "Now, I'll tell you what we're doing next. I told the guys that I'd find the loser who cost us the championship this year. Unless you want more of what I just gave you, you'll tell everyone how you got those birds to peck my eye out and why. I won't let you go until the entire school knows what you did."

Jonathan stood up, thin body quivering like he was cold, and answered in a voice that shook as violently as he was. "I don't know anything." In an instant, Jackie's fist smashed into his face, and Jonathan crumpled. Blood poured from his nose in a small stream, pooling on the ground. Some dribbled into his mouth and down his throat, the metallic taste making him choke.

"Stop lying, Crane. You aren't fooling anyone. Tell me what you did, you little-!" Jonathan said nothing, and Jackie gripped him by the throat. "Tell me now or, as God is my witness, I'll snap that bony neck of yours." Jonathan heard himself gag in Jackie's clutches. While he doubted that Grey was willing to murder him, he would at least receive the beating of his life. But he couldn't give away his secret, or his revenge would be jeopardized, especially if Gran somehow heard. She might figure things out anyway. He felt incredibly stupid for not being more careful.

"I told you, Jackie, I didn't sabotage the game." It was a half-truth. Jonathan wanted revenge against Jackie, and had not set out to destroy the Chickenhawks. That was an unexpected bonus for him.

Jackie, his handsome face contorting into an ugly snarl, gave Jonathan's hair another brutal tug, harder than the last. Jonathan gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. The pain was almost too much for his small body to handle. He tried to think about how Jackie knew. Grey was a C student - no idiot, but of average intelligence. What had tipped him off? The smell? Suspicious behavior on Jonathan's part? Had Jackie been awake for long enough to see something incriminating? Whatever mistake Crane made, it was impossible to concentrate when his face was being shoved into the dirt.

Jonathan managed to speak, everything in his body alight with fear and pain. He had to appeal to Jackie's pride if he wanted to escape. "Tell me, Jackie. You're the one beating me up. Who will come off worse in front of the others, you or me?"

Pausing, Jackie loosened his grip on Crane a little, his snarl turning into a malicious smile. "Let's see." He grabbed Jonathan by the collar, bodily dragging him through the woods. Jonathan gave the occasional cry when he was pulled over an especially sharp rock or branch, but managed to keep something of his dignity as Jackie, his smile almost manic, hauled him to his feet and shoved him down in front of the gathered kids. He had just enough time to recognize the place as a field just outside Arlen High before Jackie planted a foot on his back.

"Scarecrow? What's he got to do with anything?" Mary asked, standing beside Bo and Sherry. Crane's other classmates all seemed confused and slightly unsettled by Jackie's disheveled, almost unhinged look. Jonathan recognized a few of them: Jason, George, and Charlene were there, along with a tall freshman Chickenhawk named Jason Greene and Charlene's sister Melissa.

"You wanted to know why we lost the big match, Bo," Jackie said, eyes bright. "I've got the reason right here. He's the one who made the birds go after me. He's why we lost. Isn't that right, Jonathan Crane?"

Jonathan didn't say anything, but gave a pained groan. It was difficult to talk with his face buried in the grass. Everything in him ached, down to his bones, and he felt about ready to collapse from the beating. He sagged in Jackie's grip as the bigger boy showed him to the gathered Arlen High students. While he didn't appreciate being treated like a trophy, he felt too exhausted to fight back or resist in any way. Even staying conscious took effort.

"What did you do to him?" Greene asked, as if only just then noticing the cuts and bruises on Crane's body. "Did you torture him or something?"

"What I did was nothing less than this _traitor_ deserved." Jackie yanked Crane to a standing position before punching him in the face again. "Now, tell them what you did. How did you get those birds to attack me?" Jonathan said nothing, and Jackie yanked his hair and made him yell. "Go ahead. Tell them."

Rather than join Jackie, most of the other kids looked horrified, especially Jason Greene. Jonathan had never met him before, but he seemed the most sympathetic towards Crane's case. George and Jason Bludhorn, who helped with the attack on Crane in the past, seemed ill at ease. That wasn't a surprise. They would be able to make a mental connection between the episode with _Ulysses_ and their friend's "accident" and, with good reason, would be afraid that they were next.

"Look, Jackie," Greene said, "I know you're upset about the game. We all are. But I think blaming it on Scarecrow is a little harsh. I don't think he was the one who got your eye out."

Jonathan was surprised to hear somebody defending him, but wasn't about to argue. He clamped his mouth shut. It was to his advantage if the kids squabbled over what to do with him. Loosening his body, he tried to build up his strength for when he got a chance to run for it.

"I know it was him," Jackie said, showing Crane to the others. "Tell 'em, Scarecrow!" When Crane refused to talk, he got a near-paralyzing punch to the gut. He fell to his knees, struggling to get his breath back. The children in the crowd muttered, a sense of discontent growing, although Crane's breathing was too labored for him to hear what they said easily.

"It wasn't Scarecrow who lost us the game," he heard somebody in the crowd say. "He ain't even on the team!"

"Yeah, he ain't smart enough!"

"Too chicken!"

"I'm telling you, it was him! I don't know what his problem is, but he isn't as stupid as he looks. But he'll tell us why he trashed our game. Now, Scarecrow, this is your last chance. Tell us what you did or else!" Sending Crane sprawling with a blow to the ribs, Jackie stomped on the fingers of his outstretched right hand. Jonathan decided to play the pity card, lying on the ground and trembling.

"C'mon, Jackie, this isn't fun anymore. Let Scarecrow go. We'll go to the diner or something. I'll pay." Bo was uncharacteristically nervous, even afraid. Crane knew the signs - pale skin, inability to look Jackie or Crane in the eye, trembling hands. Bo wasn't helping Crane out of sympathy. He just didn't want to become the birds' next victim.

"Bo, if it wasn't for him we'd be state champions by now. He blew our perfect four-year win streak. Believe me, he's not as stupid as he dresses. He's a nasty little monster, and a good pounding is the least he deserves. It's him or us." Crane could feel Jackie's hands tighten around his arms. "Him or us, Bo. I'm warning you. If you don't let me teach him a lesson this time, he'll try again."

"You're being paranoid, Jackie," Sherry said. "Scarecrow's weird, and none of us like him, but he's never hurt anyone."

"There's always a first time, Sherry." Jackie viciously shoved Jonathan to the dirt, striking him on the back one more time with a clenched fist. "All right, Crane. You might think you've got everyone in Arlen High fooled that you're the village idiot or something. But you can't fool me. I know what you really are. Go ahead and get out of here, but consider yourself warned. If you take one step out of line, or if anything funny happens to anyone on the team, you'll get worse than that." Before setting Crane free, Jackie very deliberately spat on the ground at his feet.

Working up a few tears, Jonathan gave the other kids a pleading look before darting up the road. Everything inside his body and out hurt. His clothes were even more scruffy than usual, and his ribcage felt like it was on fire. Even more frustrating, Jackie was on to him. Even if the other kids thought that Grey was paranoid and bore a grudge over the lost match, he had shown that he was very willing to batter Jonathan mercilessly. Crane was reckless and made stupid mistakes. It only got him punched, kicked, shoved on the ground, and paraded in front of Jackie's jock friends like a dead deer. Nevertheless, Bo was intimidated by him, and he suspected that next Thursday he would get to keep his lunch money. The plan was still a success, if only to a degree.

Stomach cramping, he made his way to the Keeny manor. He would save the recipe if he ever needed it again, but for now once was enough. The bullies saw him as a potential threat, even if Jackie's accusations weren't taken as seriously as they should have been. It was unlikely that Jackie would fall for the same trick twice, and Bo would be more careful, especially given his new responsibilities as football team captain. There was plenty of time to improve it, and the smell would be the first thing to go. Besides, he had scared several of the Chickenhawks. That almost made up for the worst beating he had received in his life.

One more thing made it all worthwhile. Sherry Squires had looked at him with some sympathy in her eyes. Not much, but it was there.

Smiling, Jonathan decided that he had another way to get his own back on Bo. This time, the opportunity for revenge would come to _him_. Judging from the nature of high school relationships, with Brad and Charlene as an example, Sherry Squires would grow tired of Bo and look for another boyfriend. One would be waiting for her, patient as the bird which shared his surname. By the time of senior prom, she would be standing by his skinny side.


	8. Senior Year

_One night, along a road I named,_  
_I begged her for a rendezvous._  
_She came!-a crazy thing to do!_  
_But more or less we're all insane!_

_- _Charles Baudelaire_, The Murderer's Wine_

When Bo Griggs first approached her with the idea to befriend Jonathan Crane in senior year, Sherry's first reaction was predictable, even for her. Bo was known for his love of practical jokes, but in this particular case Sherry wasn't sure who the joke was supposed to be on.

"What the hell? Ew! No way!"

"C'mon, Sherry," Bo said, draping an arm around her shoulder as if to calm her down. "You've only gotta do it for a month or two, long enough to make him think you mean it. It's easy. You get him to like you, we fake a breakup, and when he starts hitting on you we knock him down."

"He'll never fall for it." Sherry folded her own arms, brushing Bo off. "He's weird, sure, but he isn't stupid. Look, why don't you focus on football or something?"

Bo grimaced. Despite his popularity with his teammates, he didn't have the leadership ability of Jackie Grey. While his teammates would never say anything against him, everybody, including Bo himself, knew it. Jackie himself was never the same after his injury - bitter, angry, squinting through his single eye, pitied by some and shunned by others, who saw his brutal treatment of Crane as going too far. Bo was part of the second group, and most of the Chickenhawks with him, more to go along with the team captain than to show solidarity for Scarecrow.

Now, however, Arlen High School had two social outcasts. For all his venomous hatred of Jonathan Crane, now Jackie had more in common with him than any of his old friends on the football team, a bitter irony that wasn't lost on either of them. Sherry occasionally saw Crane give a mean little smirk when the two were together, as if he took pleasure in seeing his old enemy brought down to his level. Given Jackie's torture of Crane, Sherry could understand if not bring herself to sympathize.

Bo liked teasing Crane, too - first the "scarecrow" nickname, and then starting in sophomore year, "Ichabod". Sherry was there when he coined it. They were watching a film adaptation of _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow _in English class, and it took Bo about five seconds to realize that Ichabod and Jonathan Crane shared a last name. It didn't catch on in the way that "Scarecrow" did, mostly because not everyone got the reference, but Jonathan himself remarked with some sarcasm that he liked the old insulting nickname better. That was enough for Bo and some of the Chickenhawks to keep using it.

Jonathan, in an attempt to defend himself, pointed out that, unlike him, most people in the film seemed to _like _Crane, and Jonathan was born in Arlen while Ichabod was an outsider. Bo didn't care, too caught up in his joke. He didn't even notice when Jonathan mentioned that he was the only person who knew the actual Irving story.

Sherry herself didn't like Jonathan, far from it, but she didn't want to see him physically hurt. To her, he was weird but essentially harmless, fun to tease but not someone to outright torture. She only remembered interacting with him a few times, all of which were awkward for both of them.

There was that brief conversation when she first started going out with Bo. Both of them were freshmen then, neither quite understanding the other. She spoke to him again during Halloween, partly to get him to go away before Bo saw him. Later she saw him resting under a fence, in the middle of feasting on his Halloween candy. He looked so at peace with himself that she couldn't bring herself to disturb him.

She would never forget the look in his eyes when Jackie brought him to Bo and beat him so badly it was amazing he could still stand. It was scared, animal-like, barely human. Even Bo thought Jackie went too far in what he did, and Sherry didn't believe that Jonathan was vicious enough to do whatever the hell it was that Jackie had accused him of doing.

"Yes, he will. He likes you. Haven't you seen the looks he shoots you in class? He sucks up to you whenever he gets the chance - helping you when you drop things, offering to be your study partner, and doing whatever you say. Only reason he doesn't try and kiss your face instead of your butt is because he knows I'll beat the straw out of him if he tries. So why not give him what he wants for a little while?" Bo looked up, his voice encouraging. "What do you say?"

Sherry cringed. She didn't like the idea of doing much of anything with Crane. She accepted his help when it suited her, such as when she dropped a textbook and he picked it up, but it was, as Bo put it, obvious butt-kissing. He was not the only one who did it. There were plenty of them - she was attractive and popular, and Bo was far from the only boy who liked her. Sherry had no respect for obvious butt-kissers. The idea of being touched by Jonathan Crane or talking to him as an equal made her skin crawl.

"What do I get out of it?" she asked, shuffling, eye darting to the cafeteria's clock. She wondered if Jonathan could hear them, but caught sight of him at the other end of the room, completely focused on his lunch: school milk, a cup of applesauce, and a peanut butter sandwich. She sighed, relieved.

"It'll be funny. I've gotta do one big prank before school's out. This one has to let me - us - into the yearbook. Bo Griggs, Class Clown." Bo grinned, the warm smile he was famous in Arlen High for. He was trying hard to win her over. Subtlety was not something Bo did very well.

"I don't know. What if he doesn't fall for it? It isn't like I've been all that nice to him before." Sherry knew that Bo wanted to end high school in spectacular fashion. He wanted to be more than star quarterback and Jackie Grey's replacement; he wanted to be a school legend. Earning Class Clown was just one of his ambitions.

"He won't listen to anyone in my gang, except maybe Greene, but Greene doesn't have the guts to turn on him in the end. You're the only chance I have. It'll be easy." Bo's voice turned quieter. "Tell him everything he wants to hear. You really like him, but can't say so because you've got to hang out with me. Be there for him. Let him be your study partner. Eat with him, invite him over, do everything you can to be his friend. Make him trust you. Leave the rest to me." Bo gave a single, confident nod. "Trust me, it'll work. He isn't half as smart as he thinks he is."

"Uh-huh." Sherry looked at Jonathan again, now drinking his milk. He was just a weird kid from a weird family who nobody liked. Some people, like Jason Greene, felt sorry for him, but no one had ever reached out to be his friend. Maybe Bo was right, and Jonathan would fall for his trick. Besides, it wouldn't _hurt _hurt Crane.

Bo offered her the famous Griggs smile again. It was impossible for her to stay angry with him for long. "So, Sherry, do ya wanna prank Ichabod or not?"

Sherry agreed with Jonathan on one thing - as an insult, "Scarecrow" was much better. "Fine. What do you think I should do first?"

"Go up to him and talk to him. I guarantee you he'll almost die of shock. Invite him out for something between you and him 'cause I'll be out with the guys and you'd like to 'get to know him better'. Try Joe's chicken place, near the center of town. I doubt he'll start hitting on you right away, so you have to make the first move."

Judging from how skinny Jonathan was, Sherry guessed that he really didn't get much to eat. Offering him food might be a good way to get his attention. She looked over at him again to see that his small lunch was already gone, half an hour into mealtime. He must have been hungry. He always seemed hungry, given how quickly he ate.

"All right. I'll talk to him as soon as I can. But if this doesn't work..."

"Good job, Sherry. Let me handle things after you've got his trust. Don't backstab him until I say it's time." After tousling her hair, Bo offered Sherry a thick hand, and they shook on it as Jonathan got up to dump his milk carton into the trash. He disappeared into the mass of kids, leaving Sherry alone to talk to Crane. Following her boyfriend's advice, she walked up to him, trying to look and sound much calmer than she felt.

"Hello."

He looked up in an instant, whirling to face her, confusion in his face. Clearly he was as surprised to be in this position as she was. "Yes? What do you want?" He stepped back, almost tripping over a freshman. He wasn't as small as he was when he first met Sherry, now well over five feet tall and still growing, although puberty hadn't added to his bulk. His figure was still thin, if not thinner. Of course, he still had those ridiculous wide glasses and dirty red hair.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Sherry could tell how nervous Crane was. She could see the muscles in his neck tense and his eyes dart around the cafeteria, searching for Bo. "Don't worry about Bo. He's not here." Crane's body visibly sagged and his eyes brightened.

"Good. What would you like to say? Quickly, please, I've got a test next period to study for..."

Sherry tried her best to attempt a reassuring face. "Meet me outside by the tree after class. You look hungry, and I'd like to take you out for dinner in town."

Jonathan smiled, clearly grabbing what he saw as his big chance. "Sure. I'll be there, don't worry. I'm starved." He rubbed his stomach to emphasize. "School lunches never fill me up much." The anxiety in his voice and the flush in his pale cheeks gave him away. Bo was right. Jonathan had a crush on her, and it wasn't even subtle. Chances were he cared more about talking to her than getting something to eat.

"Okay, then. See you." Sherry was relieved when Crane left without so much as offering a handshake. There was only so much she was willing to do so that Bo would get his place in Arlen High's yearbook.

When fourth period ended, she found herself hoping that Jonathan forgot about the arranged meeting. He hadn't, of course. He was already perched beside the tree, a smug smile on his thin face, waving to draw her attention. An open copy of their latest assigned book in English was under one arm. She looked around to check that no one else was there to see. There were some things a top member of the cheer squad couldn't be caught doing, and talking to Jonathan Crane was one of them.

"So," he said, slinging his satchel over his shoulder, "where do you want to eat? I'll let you choose. I'm not usually one for fancy dining."

Sherry remembered the place Bo suggested earlier - Joe's Chicken Wings, a restaurant not far from Sherry's house. The food was good quality but very greasy. Needless to say, it was very popular for the football team's after-game celebration meals. "Joe's Chicken. Ever been there?" Jonathan's expression was blank. "_Really_? It's a chicken wing place not far from here."

"I don't go into town that much anymore," Jonathan said, his voice more resigned than upset. "The people there don't like me."

"Well, you said you were hungry. Thought you might like some _real _food."

"Oh, I do. It's just..." Jonathan wrung his fingers again. "I'd like to avoid a fight, and I know you're with Bo. Won't he be angry if he sees you with me?"

"C'mon." Sherry knew her relationship with Bo was important, and she had been hoping to avoid this, but she placed an arm across Crane's skinny shoulders. "Bo won't know a thing. It'll just be the two of us." She was struck by how tall he was, significantly taller than her, and she was by no means short.

"Are you sure you don't just want to cheat off my homework?" Jonathan asked, but he was playing along by this point, too. Sherry could see more than one kind of hunger in his eyes. He sighed, disappointed, as if realizing something.

"What's wrong?" Sherry watched him as he leaned against the tree, playing with a fallen leaf. She shivered, wishing that she had remembered to bring her sweater from home. She _hated _autumn, almost as much as she hated winter.

Jonathan shrugged before tearing the leaf to red bits. "I don't have any money. Spent it all on lunch. Sorry."

Sherry thought for a moment before joining him. "No problem. I'll pay." Jonathan looked up, clearly startled and pleased that she was making a friendly gesture towards him. "The Chickenhawks won't be at Joe's today, and no one will bully you as long as you're with me."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but his voice was hopeful. "Really? I mean, I've never been invited anywhere before, and I never ate at Joe's. Not the kind of food I'm used to eating. What's it like?"

"Greasy. Spicy. Better than fast food, though. If you ask me, you could put on a bit of weight." Jonathan looked insulted for a moment, but shook off Sherry's remark. "You know the kind of food I'm talking about. Don't tell me you've never eaten chicken wings before!"

"I haven't. Gran gives me a little meat every once in a while, but the most I've ever had is in our school's burgers." Jonathan coughed into his sleeve. "Heard Joe's stuff is tasty, though."

Sherry was dumbstruck, something rare for her. Where was Crane from, anyway? _Neptune_? Anyone with any social life to speak of went to Joe's Chicken Wings. She found herself feeling a little sorry for him again. Maybe, before deserting him, she could help him a little, and teach him how to interact with people without looking like a complete idiot.

"So, let me get this straight. You've never been to Joe's. You haven't even eaten a chicken wing once in your life. Honestly, Sca-_Jonathan_." She corrected herself quickly by using Crane's real name. She had to gain his trust. "We're gonna have to do something about that."

Jonathan breathed in deeply, closed his eyes for a few moments, and managed a weak smile. "We should go now, Miss Squires. Gran doesn't like it when I'm out for too long." Sherry didn't know why Jonathan cared so much about what his hag of a great-grandmother thought, but she agreed. As Bo said, she had to go along with every suggestion Crane made. The thought alone made her ill.

She only hoped that Bo would pull off his stupid plan as soon as he could.

"_Please_, Jonathan. Call me Sherry."

* * *

That was how Sherry ended up sitting in a cramped seat in Joe's Chicken Wings with Jonathan Crane, of all people, sitting opposite her. When the waiter came, he ordered a couple of wings for his meal, with a side of baby carrots and soda for his drink. Sherry decided not to get anything. She had a feeling that watching Jonathan would ruin her appetite. He lounged in his own seat, that infuriating smile on his face.

She could feel every eye in the restaurant boring into her. Of course, Jonathan could care less. He might even enjoy it. He didn't have any social status to lose.

For all she hated it, she decided to talk to him. He was still company, even if he wasn't her ideal dinner guest. She didn't consider it a date, but he obviously did, which explained that smile. From his point of view, this must be the best day of his life.

"Jonathan?"

He turned his head and laid his arms on the table. "Yes? What is it?" There was a note of excitement in his voice, something Sherry wasn't used to hearing. Crane didn't say much on his own. She guessed that he was shy, and being singled out by Bo's friends probably didn't help. He almost always spoke in class, to answer a question or to defend himself. When he wasn't shy, he was nasty, taking pleasure in anything bad that happened to the Chickenhawks. She didn't know how the hate between Jonathan and Bo's gang started, only that it was bitter and mutual.

"What do you like to eat?" Sherry was genuinely curious about this, as Jonathan didn't seem enthusiastic about eating his chicken wings. This surprised her. Joe's wings were famous all over Arlen. Even people from Latham came to eat them.

Jonathan shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I eat when I can, and usually when I'm hungry. Gran's vegetables are good for me, I guess, though they aren't easy on my stomach, and the food at school is all right. I don't get much breakfast, though."

Sherry always wondered why Jonathan usually seemed a little tired in the mornings, and now she had some idea of why. It also explained why he was so greedy about school lunches. It was literally the first meal he ate. If Bo's friends took his money in the past, Jonathan must have been starving for most of his freshman year. If she had little sympathy for Crane, she had even less for Jackie, the worst offender. It was amazing that Crane could still stay awake, let alone get the grades he did, in that kind of position. In its own way, that was admirable.

Now here she was, feeling sorry for the kid she was going to backstab. She couldn't feel too much sympathy, or she would be unable to carry out Bo's plan. She found herself looking at Jonathan's ragged clothes and short sleeves. The kid was obviously poor. Crazy Keeny wasn't the kind of great-grandmother who offered hugs and cookies, so she wouldn't be any help. Jonathan was on his own. No wonder he latched on to her.

Sherry decided that, before betraying Crane, she would try to do him some good, and that would mean putting up with him.

"Hey, Jonathan." He looked up, only partly paying attention as he tapped on the table with his fingers. "Would you like friends?"

"I don't care." Jonathan turned away, but his voice was shaky. "I really don't."

Sherry would have to try something else. "You don't want people like Bo and his friends to pick on you, right?"

Jonathan paused, his annoyed expression softening a little. "Right." He checked that the Chickenhawks weren't there before raising his voice. "You're his girlfriend. Just tell him to leave me alone. I don't want to cause trouble. They always start it. Always." There was a bitter edge to the last word.

"Well," Sherry said, "if you acted more like the rest of us and actually got a social life, they might stop. Join a club - drama, art, even the chess team. Win some prizes. Give people a reason to like you."

Jonathan tilted his head slightly. "I won first place for my science fair project in fifth grade. That counts. I got my name in the local newspaper."

Sherry sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "No one cares about the science fair." Jonathan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't reply. "Look, that's just the way things are. Get in the school musical. Try out for the Chickenhawks."

Jonathan immediately burst out in bitter, raucous laughter. That made it clear what he thought of that particular idea.

Sherry glared, sure that he was drawing more attention to them. The other people in the restaurant were already staring at her. If word got around Arlen that Sherry Squires was dating Jonathan Crane...

She wanted to slap Bo Griggs in the face. As for Jonathan, he was lucky that she was under orders to be nice to him. "I'm serious."

"Me? A Chickenhawk? I'm not built for sports. I wouldn't join even if most of the team wasn't devoted to making my life hell. I have the sweatshirt they gave out on the first day of freshman year, and that's the closest I'll ever come." Jonathan calmed down, but with a smirk on his face. "Science fair seems a lot better, if you're asking me."

Okay, maybe that wasn't the best plan. The Chickenhawks probably wouldn't accept Jonathan anyway, except maybe as a punching bag for the other team, or the mascot if he was lucky. Jonathan was not meant to be a Chickenhawk. "At least go to a few pep rallies."

"I don't like them. They're too loud. I can't concentrate on my studies there, and no one on the football team is especially nice to me. I don't owe them any favors."

Sherry almost lunged across the table and grabbed him by the collar of that ratty shirt. _Damn it, Jonathan Crane, there is more to life than books!_ Obviously a little bored, he turned to check on his meal. When his drink was brought, he ignored it, instead continuing the conversation.

"So, Sherry. I think I owe you a favor for your kindness. Would you like to study with me after dinner? I could help you with your homework if you'd like. I've got some study questions I made for our book this unit. _Crime and Punishment_, chapters three to seven."

"I hate that book." Sherry grimaced at the thought of it. "If you can help me learn it well enough to pass the test, feel free."

"You know, Sherry," Jonathan said, "I'm surprised you don't try a little harder. You aren't stupid. You're in Honors English, and so is Bo. Clearly you two are smart enough to get there."

Sherry's feelings of sympathy towards Jonathan flickered. She was uneasy about his sly confidence, the way he already knew so many of her insecurities and made her feel more nervous than she liked. She was the leader of Arlen High's cheer squad and the most popular girl in Arlen High. He was, well, Jonathan Crane. Nerdy, scrawny, with stupid glasses, freckles, and hair that looked like a bird nested in it. Why would she feel anxious around him of all people?

Jonathan had her, and they both knew it. The smirk on his thin lips didn't twitch. Jonathan was even more smug than usual, because this time he had a reason to be. She was annoyed that he spent most of the afternoon so far casually insulting her and ignoring her advice.

Before she could say anything, the waiter returned with Jonathan's meal. He accepted it with a nod and a soft thanks. It was crisp and fresh, dripping with brown sauce, and Sherry could tell that her companion's appetite was back. Jonathan licked his lips as he sniffed the steam rising from his dinner. He grabbed a wing in a matter of seconds and sank his teeth into it.

The spice got to him, judging from his face, so he decided to wait for it to cool before trying again. "Tasty, yes. The meat's very tender. But it's too hot for me." He gave her a smile, this time a little more friendly. "Thank you for buying me the meal, Sherry. I might have misjudged you."

"Really." Sherry meant it as a statement, not a question. She tried not to show any signs that she knew how wrong he was.

Jonathan nodded. "Before today, I thought you were just a superficial, snobby cheerleader who wasted her brains on perfume and Bo Griggs."

Sherry could feel herself blush. Crane certainly had nerve, but at least he admitted that he was wrong. "And I thought you were a nerd with the social life of a pet rock."

"I was asking for that one," he said with a slightly embarrassed laugh as he picked up a chicken wing. "As I said, though, thanks. This is much better than anything I get at home." He took another bite and, after realizing that the chicken was cool enough to be eaten, set to work on his dinner.

Jonathan certainly ate like someone who was raised on a farm by a madwoman. He viciously attacked the wing, tearing off half of the meat in one bite and barely bothering to chew. It only stayed in his mouth long enough for him to remove all of the bones. A pained look crossed his face when he swallowed it, and she was surprised that he didn't choke. Instead, he simply grinned, smacked his lips as if he knew how much he was getting on her nerves, and raised the wing for another bite.

Sherry winced. This was just embarrassing. It was almost as if Jonathan knew that she was planning to humiliate him in public and was returning the favor. It was lucky that no one from school was there, or she would never hear the end of it. Bo would understand, but the others wouldn't, and there were plenty of girls who wanted to take her place.

"Mmm. Delicious," Jonathan said through a mouthful of chicken, clearly enjoying himself. "Best thing I've ever tasted."

Sherry made a face, disgusted and barely able to make out a word he was saying, edging her chair a few inches away. He didn't seem to notice or care, stuffing in another bite as soon as he gulped down the last. She felt very glad that she hadn't ordered anything herself. How would he know how it tasted, anyway? All he seemed to care about was getting the food from the plate to his stomach as quickly as possible.

"Come _on_, Jonathan," she said, trying not to gag. "You said you wanted me to teach you how to be like the rest of us? Eat like a human being, not like some sort of animal."

To be fair, he looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry." He took a smaller bite, then turned his attention and appetite to the carrots. "You know, Sherry, you're the first person who's ever been nice to me. The kids treat me like garbage. The adults don't care. Why do you want to be my friend? You've got Bo, and surely he has more to offer than I ever could."

Sherry couldn't tell him the truth for obvious reasons. However, the sheer honesty in his voice was startling. She really was the first person to show him anything resembling kindness. She only managed a sigh. She couldn't get attached to him. "Jason likes you. Sort of. He's always trying to get Bo and the others to leave you alone."

"Greene, not Bludhorn, I assume. I don't trust him, but I do agree that he isn't as bad as the others."

"Yeah." Sherry gestured to Crane's soda. "You want that?"

Jonathan grabbed the drink. "Sure. Thanks for reminding me." After a long sip, he paused. "What do you see in Bo, anyway?"

This had to be some kind of thinly-veiled pass at her, but Sherry decided to give an honest answer. "He isn't all bad, you know. He's funny, smarter than he acts, and he's been great for the team."

Jonathan gave another mean smirk. "Yeah, right. He's done as good a job at bringing back our win streak as Jackie did, without the excuse of being sick. His sense of humor leaves something to be desired, and all of his brainpower is devoted to social status." He fiddled with his glasses, his smile widening. Let me guess, because it's senior year he wants to be in the school yearbook."

"What makes you think that?"

"His character traits, mostly. He cares a lot about what other people think of him, he likes to be in charge, and he isn't as confident in himself as he acts. The same goes for you. It's the truth, not an insult in any way. Basic psychology. That, and I've known him since I was seven."

Sherry hoped that Jonathan hadn't managed to figure out anything else. The amount he did know startled her. She, and probably Bo, hadn't guessed how smart Crane was. She knew he was smart, of course, but the way he just dissected Bo's personality like a frog was unsettling. After he ate the last carrot, he returned to the chicken wings.

"These are good," he said after another bite. He took a sip from his drink to wash it down. "Spicy, but good. I'll have to come back here one day. With you, hopefully."

Sherry did not agree, but she wasn't about to tell him that. She sat uncomfortably and watched him eat. At least he liked his meal, judging from his comments, and probably enjoyed teasing her.

When he finished, he laid the clean bones on his plate and leaned back with a smile, very satisfied with himself and his meal. One hand dangled at his side while the other rested comfortably on his belly. Sherry noticed that he had eaten every bite of the chicken and all of the carrots were gone. For someone so thin, Jonathan Crane had a healthy appetite. She almost compared him to Ichabod again, remembering the schoolmaster's greed for food in the _Sleepy Hollow_ movie. However, she had to admit that the reason why Jonathan was such a glutton was slightly more understandable than his fictional counterpart's.

"What did you think?"

Jonathan picked a small piece of chicken out of his teeth. "I think I enjoy birds much more when they're inside me." He laughed at his own joke and patted his full stomach. Sherry didn't get it. "I'm stuffed. That was the most delicious meal I've had in a long time."

"Glad you liked it," Sherry said, trying not to let her disgust at Crane's manners show. He must have been hungry, living on cheap school lunches and his great-grandmother's dinners. This was probably the first real meal he ever ate.

"So." Jonathan got up, stretching his long limbs. "What do you want to do next? I've got some time before Gran wants me back at the house."

Sherry only managed a shrug. "Your call."

Surprised, Jonathan scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit. "How about we wait outside for a while? I'll help you study if you'd like. It's the least I can offer to thank you."

Sherry thought about the _Crime and Punishment_ quiz tomorrow. She wasn't looking forward to homework, but studying with Jonathan might help her. "All right," she finally said after a short pause.

He led her outside, clearly in a good mood, his smile genuine. She couldn't help but be somewhat pleased that he liked the chicken. Joe might have a new customer. Jonathan found a bench for them to sit at before taking a bundle of study cards and the book from his satchel.

"All right, Sherry. What would you like to study first? Characters, analysis, or plot events?"

Sherry thought for a moment. "Characters, please. I can't keep those names straight."

Jonathan sorted through his cards, pulling out the ones they needed. "All right, characters it is, then. I promise you, Sherry, you'll have an A on the quiz by the time we're done, whether you like Dostoyevsky or not."

To her surprise, Sherry found herself genuinely enjoying Crane's study methods. He was patient, all things considered, guiding her through character names and correcting her whenever she got one wrong. Before him she had occasionally studied with Bo, but he wasn't especially interested in studying, either, and bumbled through it as much as she did. For Jonathan, it was the closest thing he had to fun. Sherry found it sort of sad. She couldn't accuse him of being a bad study partner, though.

Maybe it was the combination of his recent meal and a date with his crush, but Jonathan was much more relaxed than usual, with a sincere smile and the hunch out of his stance. Jonathan Crane, the biggest freak at Arlen High, almost looked like a normal human being. She was so used to seeing him tense and miserable in class that seeing him happy was as big a shock as it was that Halloween night. She wouldn't want to date him for real, of course, but maybe being his friend for the next month wouldn't be unbearable.

When they were finished and the sky turned dark, Jonathan put away his cards and wished Sherry good night. His smile was strained now, probably because of his fear of Crazy Keeny, but he was trying his best not to show it. He looked exhausted, the sag back in his posture, and she could see why people called him "Scarecrow".

"Maybe," he said, not even trying to hide his excitement, "I could come and visit your place one day. I've never seen the inside, but it looks nice. I'd invite you to mine, but Gran doesn't like guests."

"Fine." As Bo said, she couldn't refuse any of his ideas, no matter how much she wanted to. The idea of someone as filthy as Jonathan in her room, pawing her things, made her stomach turn. "I'll think about it."

"Thanks. Even if we can't go out because you like Bo, we can still be friends." He gave a hopeful smile as he got ready to leave. "Right?"

Sherry had a feeling that being friends wouldn't satisfy Crane for long, but upsetting him would make him suspicious. "Sure. We can be friends, I guess."

"You know what, Sherry? I'm really glad I got to talk to you. See you in class tomorrow." Jonathan gave a nod of thanks and waved before he disappeared into the shadows of the town, the only sound Sherry heard the clatter of his shoes against the street. As she listened, she found herself hoping that he would make it back in time to please Crazy Keeny.

She didn't know why, honestly. She didn't _care_ about him. She couldn't afford to, not if she wanted to stay with Bo.

One month, that was all. Then it would be back to normal - Bo and Sherry still going out, maybe more if their relationship stuck, and Jonathan buried in his books and good grades. No one would be harmed. Jonathan would be a little wiser, Bo would be Arlen High's Class Clown, and Sherry would keep her place in Honors English.

As much as she felt sorry for Jonathan, he had to learn that he couldn't always trust people. She could teach him that much.


End file.
